Potential
by Electric Smile
Summary: Companion fic to Kinetic. Vega finds himself in a world where he never joined Shadaloo, where his mother was never murdered, where he's been romantically involved with his most hated rival for five years. As he digs deeper into the differences between the real world and this one, will he be able to find his way home? Or will he come to find he has no reason to want to leave?
1. Chapter 1

It was warm. Maybe he'd been a little dazed. How long had he been in the shower? No, he was at a bar. He was buying a drink for a gorgeous woman sitting a few seats over, glancing his way every so often. He opened his eyes, pushing away from the cool tiles of the wall and turning off the hot water. Had he drunk enough to forget what happened until he made it back to his hotel room? He reached for his towel, and started to dry his hair. His hands froze in place. He let the towel fall loosely to his shoulders, and ruffled a few wet strands. It was much shorter. When had he done that? No, that wasn't his decision. Someone else had to have done this.

He stepped towards the sink in the foggy bathroom, and wiped the steam from the mirror. That was when he realized this wasn't the bathroom of his hotel room. The sink was supposed to be on the other side of the room. And it didn't look anything like a typical hotel. He studied himself in the mirror, wondering what else might be wrong with him. His hair didn't look like it'd been randomly chopped off by some soon-to-be-dead prankster. It was purposeful and professional. He sighed, getting impatient. The blackout drunk explanation was beginning to seem more and more likely. He looked down at the sink. Two toothbrushes sat side by side. He pulled open the drawers. Just assorted bathroom tools like nail clippers and-wait, pink bows? Hair clips? He pulled open another. Little bottles of brightly colored nail polish clinked and clattered as they rolled around in the drawer. Third drawer. Feminine products. Whose house was he in? Why was he in it? And when had he cut his damned hair?

The mystery couldn't be solved from the bathroom. He finished drying himself off and got dressed. The clothes weren't familiar, but nor were they something he wouldn't normally wear. That led him to believe he'd chosen them. And they fit, so they were probably his. He left the towel behind, raked at his hair with his fingers and stepped into the hall.

The walls were bare, no art or photos. He didn't hear anyone, but still tried his best to remain quiet. Then he remembered that he'd just been using the shower. If anyone _was _here, they knew he was too. There on the right was a room with several boxes. They were open, so he looked in. Some books about art, history, anatomy, aesthetics, design... He caught sight of an easel laying on the floor beside the stack of boxes. He moved the top box, and opened it. Yarn? Crochet hooks? Amy Tan novels? Nothing in that box held any interest for him, nor did it jolt him into remembering whose home this was.

The kitchen was quiet and empty. It was also littered with boxes. He didn't bother with them after seeing the first contained plates and cutlery. Not his. So he kept searching. He found a bedroom finally. Not his bed. All those pillows and paisley patterns were not something he would put in his home. There was no other furniture in the room, but more boxes. He saw a phone on the floor beside the bed. It was plugged into the nearby outlet. He sat beside it, unlocked it.

He looked through the text messages. There was an ongoing conversation with someone labeled as '_primavera_'. The conversation was in English, and fairly mundane. So he looked at the pictures instead. It'd tell him who it belonged to quicker, but naturally, there weren't any. Annoyed, he put the phone down, and headed over to the nearest pile of boxes. The one on top was small, and had only a few things. Keys, some cards, a bottle of pills. He picked up one of the cards and felt the color drain from his face. It was him, but the name didn't say Vega like it should have.

After his mother had died, he'd left Spain, claiming to himself that he was leaving for good. Destination assigned by the random placement of a finger on a spinning globe, he'd spent time in Japan before going back on his word. But he'd only done it because he'd decided he was coming back as someone new, not the stupid and useless boy he'd been before he left. He had become someone capable, talented, impressive and he'd make damn sure well that all of Spain learned that some way or another. He wanted to forget his old self, to erase any notion of weakness, vulnerability, or ineptitude.

So why did this card have his birth name on it instead of the alias he'd created for himself? It would expire in five years, so it was current. He looked at the other items. A debit card, a credit card, both with the would-be forgotten name. There was a slip of paper with an address written on it in his handwriting. He glanced at the bottle of medicine. It had his name on it too. An antipsychotic. He dropped it like it was suddenly on fire and stepped away, running a hand through his hair. A horrible anxiousness was beginning to make his stomach turn. What was going on? Why did everything seem foreign but familiar all at once?

He stepped back over to the phone and opened the contacts. This was his, he knew it was. He held it for a second, unsure what he was planning to do with it. Then he decided, and searched for Bison's number. It wasn't there. Nor Sagat. Nor Balrog. Nor anyone else affiliated with Shadaloo whom he was ever required to keep in contact with. He groaned like he was going to be sick, and scrolled through every name one by one, cursing his habit of assigning nicknames to people. Where was Cammy in this list? Where were all of the numbers associated with his job as a matador? Frustrated, he put the phone down again.

He didn't live here alone. This was evident in all of the feminine things he'd found throughout the place. So where was his room mate? Girlfriend? He wrinkled his nose. Wife? He shook his head at that. No, he didn't keep steady relationships. Too risky, too much of a hassle being concerned with somebody else. All it ever got you in the end was trouble anyway, so what was the point?

The rest of the home was empty. It was small, definitely not a house. Maybe an apartment or something. He-or someone-was in the process of moving in here. Why? And where? He leaned against the counter as he tried to consider the possible answers. Maybe he had helped someone move here. In his very fastidious attempt to conceal his secret identity, he'd rid his phone of any traces of all things Shadaloo related, like the missing phone numbers. He felt a bit of hope, and then it was dashed as quickly as it'd come. The fact of the matter remained that his real name-his birth name-was on the cards in that bedroom and that bottle of pills. None of them were old or expired items. He didn't help people move either, so he knew he had to be really desperate for answers to come up with that explanation.

A quick movement and soft noise made him jump back. A tabby cat had jumped up onto the counter he'd been leaning on. It meowed at him, stepping forward. "I didn't know you were here," he mumbled, mostly to himself to justify why he'd been so startled by a cat. It looked at him expectantly. He didn't really like animals. Cats were better than dogs at least, but he still couldn't understand why someone wanted to deal with cleaning up after and keeping up with another living thing. Especially an animal. The cat drew his attention to the sink as it passed by, carefully avoiding getting its feet wet. There was a mug and a spoon. A very pink mug. It was going to drive him mad trying to figure out whose house he was in, or why. But the mug in the sink reminded him at least, that some morning rituals couldn't go ignored, no matter how unusual the situation.

There wasn't much coffee in the pot on the opposite counter. Just a bit more than enough for one person. He opened a few cabinets, eventually finding a cup. The coffee was still warm. He could feel it through the thin plastic of the cup. He wasn't sure where that mug in the sink had come from or where to find another, but it wasn't that important. He just had to drink it. Maybe it would help him think a little more clearly. He paced around the room, the kitchen more or less sharing one big open space with a living room that was, of course, crowded with boxes. How was there this much stuff to be dealt with? The cat trailed after him as he made laps around the room. "I don't know what you want _me _to do," he muttered irritably at the thing. He paused by a window, separating the blinds with two fingers and peeking out. A busy street in an urban area. Maybe ten or so floors up. He didn't look much longer, turning away and heading back to the kitchen. He emptied the cup and put it in the sink.

He turned around, facing the quietly humming refrigerator and it all hit him like a ton of bricks. All it took was one picture. One stupid, glossy, four by six piece of colored paper. He stared, and it just wasn't processing properly for a minute. There was him, sort of a half-grin on his face. He was used to making this expression. Smiling when he didn't really feel like it, but humoring someone anyway. Everyone did it. But that wasn't the trouble. It was her. That woman. that _thing_ his arm was wrapped around, pulling close. She smiled brightly, doe-brown eyes looking right at the camera, and it made him want to vomit. He knew all at once who _primavera _was. His most hated rival, an animosity mutually agreed upon by both parties.

_Primavera _was spring, and spring was Chun-Li.

Almost as if on cue, he heard the distinct sound of a key grinding away in a lock. He froze. This wasn't right, but what was he supposed to do? Hide? That picture on the fridge he continued to stare at said it didn't make a difference, because apparently _kinda liked him_. "Ohhh, hi Cammy!" intoned a high, feminine voice. Like she was talking to a child. He turned to face her, stomach dropping at the thought of not only being in an amorous relationship with her, but also the potential of having a child. There she was, but not with any child, her eyes instead directed at the cat that had come to greet her at the door.

Then the cat's name was Cammy? He swallowed hard. How did actual, person-Cammy feel about that, he wondered? Dear God, who was he kidding, how did actual person-Cammy feel about Chun-Li _dating _him? He stared at her as she closed the door, a grocery bag in one arm. She bent to pet the cat, then approached the kitchen. He thought about bolting but where was the fun in that? She glanced up at him as she set the bag down. "I really am not looking forward to unpacking all of this stuff," she said.

"It's only one bag," he replied dryly, not really wanting to speak with her but unable to ignore her. Why wasn't she trying to arrest him?

She smiled and rolled her eyes at him. "Oh, ha ha. I wish. But I'd _really _prefer it if everything in this area were put up before my dad gets here later this week. I want the place to be _sort _of presentable, you know?"

He almost choked on his own saliva. Her dead-for-almost-a-decade dad? "Your dad," he echoed. Why was he talking to her? Why wasn't he running? This was a trap. It had to be.

"Hellooo? Earth to Andres! Drink more coffee," she said, waving a hand. That time he did choke a bit, coughing, seeming to break his own trance. Or maybe it'd been hearing her call him by that name, and in such a friendly way. He was supposed to be Vega, somebody she feared and loathed. Not a domesticated guy she flirted with cheerily.

"Doesn't the name 'Vega' mean anything to you?" he asked, plainly irritated at her obliviousness. She didn't seem to notice as she continued to pull food from the bag. Rice. Bread. Fruit. Her lips came together into a tight circle as she thought.

"Mmm, I think it might be the name of a star? And it's a surname, that I know," she said. "Why?"

"What about Shadaloo?" he pressed further. He felt like he shouldn't be asking her this. What if he was outing himself? But she seemed genuine. She was a lot of things, but generally not a good actor. There was no resentment in her eyes or voice. Nothing hidden, and she, like him, was too proud to suppress a disgust as primal as the one she felt for him.

"Come on, now you're just being silly," she said. "I _know_ who they are." There was a sudden tight feeling in his chest. Here it was, this was it. "That's the whole reason my dad quit Interpol. They threatened to kill him. So he resigned. And I'm happy he did, no matter if he wonders if it was a good decision or not."

He let out the breath he'd been holding, forcing it to remain even and quiet. Was this a dream? Her father was alive, and no longer an Interpol detective. And her? What did she do? Was she a detective? What was the best way to figure that out without outright asking? If he really was dating her-or whatever this arrangement was-shouldn't he know? He wanted to laugh. Since when did he care about hurting her feelings? "And you aren't one either?" he ventured.

"No," she said, stretching the 'o' sound. "I don't think I'd ever go for something like that. Too dangerous. I like helping people, but there are better ways to do it than challenging terrorists and murderers and stuff."

Was it real? He kept watching her cautiously as she put away the groceries she'd bought. Did it do him any good to challenge her for now? He tried to calculate the risks of playing along. It could be some kind of a trap. After all, he couldn't remember how he got here. He remembered the warmth of the shower, opening his eyes with his head resting against the tiles. Before that...

Nothing came to mind. Just that woman at the bar in New York. So what had happened in the time it took him to get from New York to here? If it was an elaborate ruse, what was it for? She seemed to have figured out his real name. If she'd dug up that much, what else did she have on him? Or was that the point, to get him so confused by the situation that he'd blurt something out? Something incriminating, like asking her about Shadaloo?

No. He glanced at the picture on the fridge, and just couldn't bring himself to think that it was somehow doctored. He hadn't had short hair since he was young, and he'd never been to China in his youth. And he didn't look young in the photo anyway. There were surely better ways than this one to try to out him. But if that wasn't what was going on, he was still at a loss. Maybe he was dreaming. Or was this what a coma was like? Not that he had reason to believe something had happened that landed him in such a dire situation as that, but at this point he was grasping at anything.

"Why did you name the cat that?" he asked abruptly. She leaned away from the cabinet so she could make eye contact with him.

"Um...that was you," she reminded him. "You were calling her that before we even got her to come inside, remember?"

He looked at the orange cat. He named it after Cammy. Why would he do that? "What does Cammy think?" he asked. He waved a hand. "I mean English Cammy."

Chun-Li's eyebrows rose up a bit. "Who's that?"

"Cammy White?" he clarified. "You two are best friends." He couldn't keep the hint of resentment from creeping into his voice.

She seemed concerned, and took a few steps towards him. He tensed. She wasn't going to catch him by surprise, that much was certain. "I don't know anyone by that name," she said. "Are you feeling alright? You seem sort of uneasy."

"Yes," he answered.

"You remembered to take your medicine?"

Medicine? He clenched his jaw as he remembered that little bottle of antipsychotics. He wasn't psychotic. But if he said that, she probably wouldn't agree. It was just another problem to add to the pile. "Yes," he said. How was she going to prove otherwise?

"Okay. But no, I don't know anyone named Cammy."

That struck him as odd. The two were like a united front against Bison and Shadaloo. But if Chun-Li was truly no longer with Interpol-or, allegedly, had never been an officer to begin with-then he supposed she would never meet Cammy in her line of work. This was going to be a lot to keep track of. Or would it? What was making him obligated to be here? People break up all the time, and he certainly wasn't interested in a continued cohabitation with her, of all people.

Then he looked around at all of this _stuff. _His stuff, her stuff. How it was all together, that maddening photograph on the fridge. The way she held no contempt towards him. How he didn't even have anyone to call and ask what the hell was going on. He was supposedly crazy enough to warrant medication. So who was going to take seriously a psychotic questioning the nature of his reality? All of these things combined made him hesitant to jump ship just yet. He needed to figure out what was going on, and running off into a world that he didn't quite feel familiar with wasn't likely to get him anywhere good. He could try to approach the entire problem from a more methodical and logical stance than that. So he'd stay here for now, and tolerate her as best as he could until he could figure out what was happening. He just had to hope she wouldn't make him want to strangle her before then.


	2. Chapter 2

He hadn't really slept well. For one, he was trying to accomplish doing so at the kitchen table. There was no couch in the place yet, and he didn't want to sleep beside her. There were too many risks to consider. If it really was all an act, she could subdue and arrest him easily while he was sleeping, and he wouldn't get the chance to react. Plus, the thought of laying beside her was horrifically unappealing. He could tell her how beautiful she was all day long. But appreciating something for its beauty didn't necessarily mean he felt anything more than a superficial admiration. Very few people in his life gave him reason to truly admire them. She, on the other hand, had caused him an untold amount of grief from the first time they'd met. He wasn't about to get in bed and cuddle up with a woman who'd sent him sailing out of a New York City high rise to the unforgiving pavement a dozen or so stories below.

So sleeping in the kitchen was his next best option. A hotel room somewhere in the city was begrudgingly out of the question. Financially, he was nowhere near as well off as before. He'd never had much of an interest in money, and he now realized such an attitude could only come from having always had enough. He would preserve what he had in the event of some emergency or another. If he really did suddenly need to disappear from this place, he wanted to be prepared.

It hadn't been comfortable. Resting his head on his arms was fine for a few minutes, but sleeping that way hadn't worked out well for him. He'd woken up frequently, a combination of the awkward position, the cat jumping onto the table and bumping its head against his, and the unfamiliar noises of the apartment in the night. He couldn't ignore these sounds until he was familiarized with them. When six in the morning finally rolled around, he got up. His back and shoulders were aching and sore, and no amount of coffee seemed to make the headache go away. Thirty minutes later, he heard something. Some obnoxious music from the other room. He realized it was her alarm going off. She shuffled into the kitchen a few minutes later. Every sound annoyed him. Some plastic wrapper crinkling noisily, the sink spewing water into a bowl, the buttons on the microwave trilling loudly.

"Did you not make it to bed?" she asked. Not accusatory, but vaguely concerned. He shrugged. His back was to her, so he couldn't see how she'd responded. He didn't too much care. He winced as the microwave beeped, the noise hitting him like a baseball bat against his skull. He was halfway to finishing the coffee when the sound of _slurping_ reached his ears next. He turned his head, cup still held almost to where his mouth had been. She was eating noodles. He narrowed his eyes as the noise never seemed to stop.

"What are you eating?" he all but growled. She must've chalked it up to him having just woken up, because she didn't seem upset.

"Instant noodles, at least, until we have more groceries so I can make my own again," she responded. "'Oriental' flavor, whatever that's supposed to mean."

"That's disgusting."

"Well, they aren't as good as real noodles, no," she said. "But you can't expect much from instant anything."

"No," he clarified, as she seemed to miss the point. "Noodles are not breakfast."

She laughed. "This again? You can quit critiquing my breakfasts, I'm not changing my menu."

His lips pulled back a bit in disgust. If heavy meals like noodles were supposed to be breakfast to her, he hated to consider what dinner might mean. She slurped her way noisily through the rest of her meal and he stayed there as long as his blood pressure could handle it. That noise would find its way into his dreams, he was sure of it.

She was gone an hour or so later, leaving him alone. He briefly entertained the thought of trying to go to sleep again. The coffee he'd drank told him it wasn't going to work out for him. And he still had so many questions that needed answering. A cursory search of boxes in the bedroom revealed only clothing, towels, extra sheets. Shoes. An ungodly number of shoes. He sighed quietly, and tried the kitchen. The boxes were not helpful, and were starting to annoy him. He found places for the dishes, supposing it would make eating later a little easier if he knew where everything was. It took more time than he thought it would, and he was irritated to find he'd actually done the housework she'd requested. He switched his focus to the boxes in the living room. They were largely useless. More books, random novels, trinkets, blankets. He left them where they were, and headed to that spare room he'd investigated the day before.

He sat on the floor and started digging. Again, more books. Various art supplies. He found what he'd assumed to be just sketchbooks, and most of them were. But some were journals. How fortunate it was that he, someone who couldn't figure out how his life had changed so radically over the space of a single shower, had such records to reflect on.

It made nothing better for him though, only serving to further his confusion. He flipped through one of the journals and found some drawings among the hastily written words. He was certain it was Cammy. _"__Quién Quién Quién"_ he'd scribbled beside her steely visage, underlining the last word in frustration. Who, indeed. She seemed to accuse him with her graphite eyes, two thick, quick strokes each with a pair of angrily scrawled circles beneath. Why hadn't he been able to remember her? Where was she now?

He turned back to the front pages. Maybe she'd be mentioned in the pages somewhere. So he read. _"It has been requested that I do this every day. So I did. -18/03/09"_

The loose page fluttered as he sighed heavily. He was so helpful to himself. He flipped to the back, but the entry was still a few months old. _"I had a dream. There was a girl, she looked like this:" _Again, there was Cammy's face, but it seemed to him it had been drawn with less certainty. _"I've never seen her before, but she seemed important at the time so I don't want to forget her. If I meet her one day I'll let her know about this premonition. She will either find it amusing, or fantastically creepy. -02/08/09"_

Still nothing that told him where she was now, but at least he found out where he'd seen her. He passed the first drawing he'd seen of her again, the more accurate one. On the next page, his handwriting looked like it did when he was in a hurry. When his brain was working faster than his hand and he didn't have the patience for neatness. "_I don't get it, I keep seeing this girl. But I finally figured her out. I must've seen her in the news about Shadaloo, because she works for them. And that makes me feel strange. It makes me sad. I feel like I'm supposed to help her, but what could I possibly do? I keep telling myself it wouldn't be sensible, but a lot of me doesn't care and just wants her to be safe and happy. I'm trying to ignore it but it's getting ridiculous. -06/01/10"_

So Shadaloo was still in the news. Why was Cammy still with them? Why hadn't he helped her? He searched for a more recent journal, and skipped to the latest entry. Just yesterday. It must've been written before he'd gotten in the shower. The brief paragraph looked as though it'd been frantically scribbled, a desperate message. But to who? _"Terrible. Terrible. WRONG. Everything is WRONG. I have to find her. Have to fix it, it's WRONG. Between the Shadaloo girl and my parents, it's all too much that's wrong! I can't be here much longer. The errors in reality are blatant and suffocating, how did I ever stand it before? I feel like I can see through everything. It makes me sick. I have to fix it. I have to find her and make things the way they're supposed to be.-08/01/10"_

It was just a small glimpse into what he might've been thinking about before getting in the shower that morning. But it didn't really help any. None of the journals did. Every message seemed to be just a few sentences at most, and usually described something boring and trivial he'd done that day. No amount of knowing what he'd eaten for breakfast six months ago was going to get him anywhere. The rest were too vague-after all, why did he need to explain things to himself? The book snapped shut, and he held it tightly for a second before placing it with all of the others.

He laughed suddenly. He drew a hand over his face, letting it rest briefly over his grinning lips. Of course he couldn't remember. Bison didn't want him to. How had it taken him so long to realize he'd been fired? It was the most obvious answer. He must've done something wrong when working with SIN-probably stealing some of that data to keep for himself-and it'd landed him in hot water. So Bison fired him, which for most people would mean death. But he must've done something to warrant keeping alive, and Bison opted to rid him of all Shadaloo related memories instead.

As soon as the surge of hope at having figured it all out came, it left. Even if Bison did that, why did he still remember so much about Shadaloo? And how did Chun-Li play into all of this? She mentioned her father, but he was dead. And she would never in her life settle down with him. He shook his head, annoyed at having come so close to resolving this issue once and for all just so she could remind him of her presence and ruin everything again. He had it figured out in pieces here and there, but none of them fit together to form the whole picture. So he was still left clueless.

He gathered the books together again, setting them beside the box they'd come from. No sense in putting them back in there if the whole point was to unpack everything. What was he thinking? That he was actually going to do what she'd told him and _clean_ for her? No, he didn't care. This wasn't his home, and as soon as he figured out what was going on, this was all gone for good.

He looked in the box and saw one last notebook. It was a sketchbook, but there weren't drawings inside. There were newspaper clippings, some in Spanish, some in English, and they were taped to the pages. They were all articles about Shadaloo, quick notes jotted down beside some of them. He paused to read one. It clinically recounted the assassination of the British Minister of Justice, Albert Sellers, a plot presumed to have been carried out by Shadaloo. He flipped a few more pages. Another article noted the murder of an Indian man named Dhalsim, killed by Shadaloo for unknown reasons. His notes frantically declared-_"This isn't RIGHT."_

He looked up for a second, eyes narrowing as he thought about it. No, it wasn't right. He'd been sent to intercept Cammy after she failed to kill Dhalsim. He looked back down at the clippings taped to the notebook, skipping a few pages. He stopped when he saw twelve young faces looking back at him. Above each small black-and-white picture taped to the page, he'd written a month of the year. They were all missing persons reports, and he could see pieces of descriptions he'd cut through to isolate the small photos. The dolls. Along the outer side of the page, he'd written updates to himself on them. There were various dates listed, but under each of them, it always said, _"Still missing."_ The latest one was from a month ago. But hadn't Cammy freed them years ago?

The stories only became more bizarre as he read on. There was a hazy photo accompanying a story about Shadaloo's forceful take-over of parts of Thailand. He'd circled one of the people in the picture, which depicted a burned village being monitored by Shadaloo soldiers. He immediately recognized the man who he'd indicated as Charlie Nash. "What?" he muttered out loud. Nash had been terminated by Bison after Guile and Chun-Li found him.

But Chun-Li hadn't joined Interpol, he reminded himself. She must have never helped Guile find Shadaloo and Charlie. He looked at the photo again. Charlie, dressed in the red and black uniform of a Shadaloo commander, held an assault rifle in his hands, and seemed to be watching the photographer. Calculating and cautious. The story went on to say that Thailand lost thirty-six percent of its land to Shadaloo, and was requesting help from other countries. An even more current article a few pages later told him that eventually, Bison had seized control of Thailand in its entirety, installing himself as dictator of the country. Millions fled, sanctions were announced, but no one seemed confident that they could stop him. Reports lamented advanced technology, biological agents, and an army that never slept.

It was all giving him a headache. How had Shadaloo become so powerful? It'd been ascending rapidly just before Cammy freed the dolls. Bison's body was destroyed soon after, and he hadn't been as strong ever since. Shadaloo suffered as well, forced to recoup its losses. He remembered being terrified of Bison's imminent return. He'd saved Cammy from the wreckage of Shadaloo, making it twice he'd saved her when he was meant to kill her. He thought Bison would be furious with him for this, but he hadn't commented on it. So when Shadaloo was ready again, Vega went back to work. All of these reports seemed to indicate the opposite. Were they all true? It couldn't be that hard to fake a news article. But if they weren't real, what was the point of making them to begin with? It was layer after layer of questions and he couldn't find any answers.

He closed the book, placing it with the rest. He left the room, still mostly unpacked and empty. She could deal with it if she wanted it done so badly. Putting up with her was enough work from him, he decided. For the most part, she was gone during the day. She had a job, apparently, teaching martial arts to people. Adults had classes during the day, children later in the evening. He'd deduced this when she went on and on about her day after coming home, as though he cared. So she still knew how to handle herself in a fight, but he wondered if she was really as skilled as she was before. Or could he even call it 'before'? The year was still the same, time hadn't suddenly skipped around. It was all just different in various ways.

He still hadn't figured out why he was living here instead of Spain. He didn't suppose it was to follow Chun-Li's illustrious career as a martial arts teacher. It was hard to ask her about himself, because it made him look out of touch. Which, of course, was something he didn't need. It was already hard enough pretending to not hate her, much less to tolerate her presence, but he had to remember that she thought he was mentally ill. Who knew where he'd end up if he started asking her who he was and why he was here? He'd gathered he wasn't a matador anymore. There weren't exactly a lot of _corridas_ going on in Chicago. He wondered if he even still knew how to fight like he had before, bulls or otherwise. He was still fit, but somewhat less muscular. He just hoped he wouldn't find out the hard way whether or not he could still hold his own.

The place was quiet, and he'd grown bored. So he did what many a bored individual has done and search for himself online. There were much fewer results than he was used to. The first hit was intriguing to him in that it listed him among the graduates from a Spanish university. He'd never made it that far with his schooling, having dropped out of school after his mother died. He'd been quite successful without a degree anyway. A different university in France had him listed as a former graduate student, and that interested him. He'd intended to investigate that further, but the next result down the line had been much too distracting.

It was an obituary for his father. His biological father, whom he'd never really known. The man had abandoned him and his mother before he'd even turned five years old, and that was all he knew about him. The article was several years old. There was no photograph or anything. It was just a site for records. He'd gotten into a wreck with a drunk driver and had been survived by his son and wife. Wife. He found himself momentarily unable to swallow. Was his mother, like Chun-Li's father, still alive somehow? Abandoning his search of himself, he looked for her instead.

And there it was. Mireia Sofia Navarro, dead after months of battling cancer, just two years ago. He let out a short, ironic laugh. Of course she was dead. Of course Chun-Li still had her beloved father in her life while he was once again resigned to watch his mother die. He closed the laptop, rolling over onto his stomach, burying his face in the pillow. He covered his head with his arms. It never got any easier, thinking about what had happened to his mother. Here, at the very least, she hadn't been murdered. But that was only so much of a comfort. Death was death, and it seemed no matter how changed everyone else's lives were, the universe felt it should keep torturing him.

He again debated with himself whether or not he should leave. It felt like too much effort to keep pretending he understood what was going on. But what was he, if not a great pretender? Even if he was back home in Spain, in the real, normal world, he would still be pretending. So why not keep playing at normalcy in this situation, as he had with all others?

This thought process lead him in circles. He argued with himself for what felt like hours over how he should be responding. He told himself to run, to get out of here because this wasn't who he was. He was not domesticated, not anybody's boyfriend or lover, and he wasn't just another no one meandering through a plain, milquetoast life. But then the rest of him asked, _run where? _Who was he to go to in this bizarre, confusing world? And further still, he grew angry at himself for asking. Why did he need someone to go to at all? The answer he didn't want to give himself whispered among his other tumultuous thoughts, hiding in plain sight but for his refusal to see it-he was completely alone and out of his element here, and it scared him.

The ruminations slowly became more disjointed and less fervent as he came closer to falling asleep. He wasn't sure how much time had passed. In the hazy and orange late-afternoon glow of the dim bedroom, he felt a weight beside him. Gentle fingers brushed his hair away from his eyes, and his mind, still clinging to sleep, thought of his mother. It wasn't her, he knew, but for a moment, there was a comfort in the feeling of being cared for again. Of someone else's reassuring, loving touch, something he never admitted to himself that he missed. He never thought of himself as lonely. Being an aristocrat didn't allow for one to spend too much time alone. There were parties to go to, gallery opening, pat-yourself-on-the-back fundraisers, plenty of places to drown in a crowd of people. But being spoken to was not the same as being cared about. Her fingers raked through his hair a few more times before he felt warm lips briefly on his cheek and she left. He didn't bother reminding himself that he hated her. At least not for now.


	3. Chapter 3

A few days passed and nothing had gone back to normal. He had done a decent job at avoiding her. Mostly for the usual reasons, but also because of a disturbing new one. He admonished himself for having taken solace in her presence, and vowed not to let it happen again. It didn't matter how much he missed his mother, or how confused he was by everything. Her touch should have never meant comfort to him. This woman would gladly leave him for dead if things were the way they were supposed to be, and he was supposed to feel the same way.

She'd noticed how distant he seemed, but tried not to complain. She thought maybe moving here was stressing him out. He knew this because she wouldn't stop asking how he was doing, or if he liked being here. The apartment was mostly sorted by now, with everything unpacked for her father's visit. It wasn't really something he was looking forward too. He'd never met her father. Dorai had been killed by Shadaloo before Vega had joined them.

He couldn't really find a valid excuse to not be present for this meeting, hard as he tried. He thought of himself as a creative person, but he was failing in that department at the moment. In a last desperate bid, he thought about playing sick, but Dorai was already on his way. Too late now. So he had to have dinner with the father of a woman he hated, and pretend to like it. And the father was also supposed to be dead, but why should he let that bother him?

When the knocking on the door came, he tried to stop himself from feeling so anxious. Why was this such a problem? He'd spent years pretending to be a well-rounded, personable, almost-celebrity, talking to people who would have cried out in horror if they'd known the more unsavory things he liked to do with his time. So if he could keep up appearances for an entire country_, _why couldn't he do so for one dinner? He breathed deeply as he heard Chun-Li's footsteps heading for the door. It was a problem, he decided, because up until now, her dad existed only in thoughts and words. To see him in the flesh meant solidifying one of the most bizarre aspects of this 'reality'. It meant he really was alive, and that things had changed, for better or worse.

"Oh!" he heard her practically squeal as she opened the door. The noise made him grit his teeth. So excited to see her dad. It should've been his mother at that door. "What a surprise!" he heard her add. What was so surprising about a visit she knew was coming? He ran his fingers through his hair and looked in the mirror. And almost as if it were as easy as changing clothes, he went from resentful to inviting.

He learned when he left the bathroom that the surprise was a few of her friends. His stomach dropped as he realized how much more effort this was going to take to get through. They were talking over each other to greet her and she returned the greetings to all of them. He recognized two of them. The brash and impetuous Ken Masters was in the process of giving Chun-Li a hug. He caught sight of the large frame of one of Shadaloo's most persistent pests, William Guile. There was also a pair of pretty blonde women he didn't recognize, gushing over how long it'd been since they'd seen Chun-Li. And finally, her father, smiling warmly and explaining how he thought it'd be such a wonderful surprise to have some of her closest friends in the country to welcome her back. He took another deep breath, not quite prepared for everything this was going to entail. An evening with one extra person he hated was one thing. An evening with _five _extra people he hated was another matter entirely.

When he finally made his way into the room with the rest of them, it set off another round of greetings which he forced himself to return with a smile and a nod. He wasn't sure how well he was supposed to know these people. The matter was cleared up a bit by way of introductions. He suppressed the instinct to step away when Chun-Li put a hand on his shoulder. "Of course you've met my dad already. But this is Will, his wife Julia, who is Eliza's sister. And her fiance, Ken."

"Nice to meet you, man," Ken said extending a hand, and he took it without outward complaint. "Dorai said you're like, an artist, or something?"

Or something. Like a seasoned professional assassin. He just nodded in response. He wasn't sure what he was, as far as these people were concerned. "That is sooo cool," Eliza sighed. "I wish I was good at something like that."

If she hadn't been pleasing to look at, he would've gotten indignant from those words. They implied art didn't take work, that it wasn't something he'd had to practice and study and learn. On the one hand, there was a pleasant implication that he had some natural, innate talent, but then, that meant it could be something anyone could have by random chance, and he certainly didn't like that. He voiced his complaint more politely than he thought it. "It just takes years of work."

"Oh, your accent!" the woman chirped. "It's so cute." So, perhaps he could deal with her doting on him at least.

"Babe," Ken said, feigning hurt.

"Don't even start," Chun-Li said, stepping in for Eliza. "If womanizing was an Olympic sport, they'd have to find something above gold to give you."

"So I'm good at it?"

"Quit while you're ahead, kid," Guile said, patting Ken on the shoulder.

"We _did _come all this way to see Chun-Li's new home," Dorai reminded everyone before they all got lost in conversation.

"Maybe you did, old man, but there are some bars here I haven't been to in far, far too long," Ken said.

Guile snorted and Julia laughed. "Glad to know you still care," Chun-Li sighed.

Her dad put an arm around her shoulder and shook his head. "Why don't you show us around?" Dorai said.

Vega waited as she led her friends and family down the hall. This night could not be over soon enough. He could hear them talking as he waited in the kitchen. There was no reason to follow them around. There were a grand total of two rooms to show off. How extravagant. Surely it warranted a tour. "...as you can see, it's still a work in progress," he could hear her say. No doubt Ken would let loose some pithy one-liner. He glanced up as she led them back down the hall to the bedroom.

"Love your color scheme in here," he heard Julia say.

"Thanks. I hear winters can get pretty monotonous here and I just wanted some bright blue colors around to look at, just in case," Chun-Li explained and he rolled his eyes. Yes, how terribly innovative and worthy of comment to pick the _blue _bed sheets.

"Your place is nice and cozy," Eliza said to Chun-Li as the came back out to the kitchen.

"Yeah, trust me, you don't want a big place anyway. It's a hassle to keep up with," Ken said, waving a hand.

"Like _you've_ ever cleaned anything in your life," Eliza shot back.

"Maybe his plate," Guile put in. Chun-Li laughed.

"That's as good a segue as any," she said. "I hadn't really picked anywhere for dinner yet."

"Oh, come on, like it's even a question," Ken said. "This is Chicago, baby, we're eating pizza."

"Maybe not everyone likes pizza, Ken," Julia said. Vega didn't miss the purposeful look she gave the other man, or the way her eyes flicked towards him.

"Everybody likes pizza," Ken muttered. He looked at Vega. "I mean, you're okay with that?"

No, he wasn't. Greasy, cheese-laden slabs of dough slathered in sugary tomato sauce with basically no nutritional value were not his idea of a good meal. "With a strong enough drink to make me forget the taste, maybe," he responded dryly.

But Ken laughed and slung an arm around his shoulder, causing him no end of irritation. "This guy knows how to party, I can tell," he said with a grin. Before Vega could say anything else, Ken was already listing off a few places he had in mind. As much as he wanted to protest the meal, he had a feeling he wasn't going to enjoy this night regardless of whether he was served a plate of hot garbage or not. So he kept quiet, preserving all of the self-control it was going to take to make it through this.

Ken guided them to the agreed upon destination. Vega trailed behind, not very comfortable with speaking to any of them. Chun-Li was engrossed in a conversation with her dad. Eliza and Ken bickered while Guile added his two cents every so often, and Julia would smile. He didn't really fit into all of this and he wasn't too concerned with trying anyway.

It was quite cold. The last rays of the sun glimmered against the glass of the buildings, doing little to provide any warmth. He pressed his hands deeper into his pockets and hoped the walk wasn't too far. It would only get colder. The city was still busy, with crowded sidewalks, noisy traffic, and trains squealing and rumbling overhead.

"It's a lot at once, I know," a kind voice said softly beside him. He looked up, having been watching for wads of chewing gum on the sidewalk. Chun-Li wrapped her arm around his. "I'm sorry if it's a little stressful. I didn't expect them to all be here."

He looked at her for a minute while they waited for the signal to change. He couldn't get over how strange it was for her to treat him so kindly. She was supposed to hate him. "It's fine," he said.

"I mean, I understand if it's overwhelming. Ken alone is kind of like...enough friend to be five on his own."

Still, he shook his head. Her worrying annoyed him. Like he wasn't used to pretending to tolerate obnoxious people he couldn't stand. "It's all right," he said, hoping she'd stop reassuring him.

"Okay, good," she said warmly. "When I saw they were all here, I was really excited. My dad said they'd been planning to surprise me since I told him I'd be moving here. So it's thanks to you."

"How?"

She looked at him like he should know better. "Because you picked a job in America over the one I know you really wanted back in Spain, just so I could be closer to my family. I can't even begin to describe how sweet that is." She hugged his arm a little tighter, and his lips formed into a firm line. So he could make her happy at the expense of his own comfort. What a thrill that was. "And I guess you can think of this as a primer for next weekend."

God, how many obligations did he have? "What?" he asked.

"You know. Ken and Eliza's wedding. We're going to be exhausted through all of this. Moving here, getting two weeks to ourselves before jetting off to Seattle, then coming back. But I wouldn't miss it, they've always been such good friends. And I'm really happy you're being so accommodating and coming along."

Why the hell had he offered to do that? He hoped above all else that he'd go back to his normal life before the next week was up. What a cruel joke this all was, being forced over and over again to spend time in the company of people who would normally have delighted in beating him half to death or throwing him in jail for the rest of his life.

It wasn't much longer before he found himself in a noisy, crowded, kitschy establishment that he supposed was decorated that way to feel more authentic and local. It was just ugly, but no one seemed to care. Ken, ever the boss of the group, snatched up a menu and said, "All right, what do you guys eat on your pizzas so I can tell you how wrong you are?" The others bickered with him playfully about toppings, and Vega remained largely silent until Ken remembered him. "How about it?" he asked.

He tried to think of the grossest thing people generally put on pizzas. Having never eaten them himself, he glanced at the menu and guessed. "Anchovies. Just anchovies."

"And with that you have waived all rights concerning pizza toppings," Ken said. He didn't mind, and stayed out of the apparently heated decision making process. It shouldn't have surprised him that food was such serious business for Americans. The conversation took off without him and he ignored most of it, catching snatches here and there, until something interesting finally came up.

"...and Ryu's off on his whole, 'gotta train' thing again."

"How is he?" Chun-Li asked. "I haven't seen him in...wow, almost five years now."

"He's fine. I mean after that craziness with those terrorist guys, I'm surprised he ever entered a martial arts tournament again."

"Terrorists?" Vega asked abruptly.

"Oh, hey, you're awake," Ken said.

"He's talking about Shadaloo," Guile answered. "Ryu was offered a job by them after they held a martial arts tournament as a front for recruitment. When he refused, they almost killed him."

"Yeah, he started doing more research on his tournaments after that, and he won't go back to Thailand anymore," Ken added.

"Not many people do these days," Dorai said darkly.

"Oh, it's just so awful," Julia put in. "Those poor people. When is someone going to do something about that Bison guy?"

"It's more of a delicate situation than it seems," Guile said.

"Yes, but she's right," Dorai said. "It _is_ awful. I wonder all of the time if I ever should've quit my work on them. I had some fairly hot leads back then. I find myself speculating about what would've happened if I'd pursued them."

Vega suddenly found himself choking on the water he'd been drinking. All eyes were on him now, and he flushed red from the attention being paid to his mistake as he coughed and sputtered into his hand. "Drink much?" Ken said smugly with a lopsided grin.

"I didn't expect even the water in America to have corn syrup in it," Vega shot back in a strained voice.

Ken laughed loudly apparently not understanding it was an insult, not friendly banter. "Nice," he said. "Speaking of drinks, you still want that liquor, so you can choke on that too?" Vega didn't get a chance to respond, but his face said enough.

"Oh, Ken, honestly, not every night at a restaurant has to turn into a party," Eliza sighed.

That didn't stop him from ordering a round of shots anyway. Challenges and rivalry were the only ways he knew how to make friends. So that's what he did. "I know," he said. "Let's make it a game. Who has a quarter or something?"

Julia set a penny on the table. "That's all you get," she warned him. She pushed the shot that'd been set in front of her to Eliza who was sitting beside her. Ken took the penny, and tapped it against the table as he talked.

"Okay. Um, Chun-Li, switch seats with me, girls versus guys," he said. Vega didn't enjoy the prospect of sitting next to Ken, but neither was he willing to show that. Maybe that's why Ken did it. "Okay. You know how to play Up Jenkins?" Vega stared at him and Ken took it as a 'no'. The word 'jenkins' sounded like something deep fried to him, vaguely conjuring up a detestable American southern accent. "It's easy. I'm gonna pass this penny over to Eliza, one of them is gonna hide it in their hand, and you have to try to find it, pointing out if it is or isn't in their hand." Ken reached under the table, and Eliza giggled.

"I hope that's all you're doing under there," Guile said sternly.

"Naturally," Ken sighed. "Chill." Guile still didn't look amused. Dorai smirked, shaking his head a little. "Okay, so, up Jenkins!" All at once, Julia, Eliza, and Chun-Li held their hands up, elbows on the table and the backs of their hands facing outward. "Down Jenkins!" They all slammed their hands down at about the same time. "Hear it?"

"Hear what?"

"The penny. Clink clink." Ken scrunched his face as he studied the girls' expressions. Eliza was a terrible liar, Chun-Li was okay, but Julia was stone-faced. She had one of the better poker faces he'd ever seen.

Guile reached over the table and tapped Julia's right hand. "Not here," he said.

Ken touched Chun-Li's left hand. "Or here."

Vega sighed, the sound being lost in the noisy restaurant. What he wouldn't give right now for a plane ticket to Europe. He touched a finger beside Chun-Li's hand, simply because it was closest. "Not here." No penny.

"Oh, poor, poor, Eliza," Ken sighed.

"Oh yeah? You wanted those shots so bad, they're yours," she said with a cocky smile.

Guile tapped Eliza's left hand. No coin. Ken heaved a dramatic breath, smacked Eliza's right hand playfully with a cry of, "It's here!", and...

"Ah, damn it." No penny.

"Ha-HAH," Eliza crowed. "In your _face_ Ken Masters!"

He smirked and waved a hand at her. He picked up his drink, and nodded to Vega. "It was a good try, right?" He knocked it back, Guile and Vega following his example. "So you get it now?" he asked Vega.

He nodded, not really wanting it all explained to him again. He didn't realize that entailed agreeing to a few more rounds of the dumb little game, each one pushing him a little closer to upending Ken from his chair and throttling him. Dorai watched from the end of the table, amused and only vaguely keeping score. The girls were winning, and Ken was loudly wondering when Eliza got so good at lying. "I think you ladies had better go easy on them," Dorai advised playfully.

"That's not what you taught me," Chun-Li piped up, her team having suffered only one loss so far.

Dorai glanced over at his daughter's boyfriend, who didn't seem to be very focused on the conversation. "Right."

When the food eventually came, Vega had even less interest in it than before. He initially thought it could end up being tolerable. But now he saw the error of his assumptions. The alcohol in his otherwise empty stomach was daring him to add hot grease to the mix and wait several hours to better understand the meaning of misery. He remembered that there was a bathroom he could go to and get a few minutes away from the rest of them. It might also make it less apparent he wasn't eating anything. He felt a little unstable on his feet, but persisted. That was when he saw him.

Balrog was not easy to miss. He was quite a large man, with intense eyes that intimidated just about everyone they settled on. He sat at a table with two other men across from him, leaving one empty seat beside him. He was leaning forward, talking in a low voice. Vega couldn't hear the conversation over the noise. Against his better judgement, he took the seat next to the man. He could have answers. He couldn't pass up the opportunity. What were the chances, after all?

"Can I help you?" the man said dangerously, his deep voice carrying a clear threat.

"We have to talk, now," Vega demanded, squeezing his hands to fists on the table. The other two men regarded him warily before returning their eyes to Balrog.

"I think you got the wrong table," Balrog said. "I got you, okay? You're a little drunk, it's a Friday night, you're doing your thing with your friends. That's cool. But you'd better get your ass back with them before you hurt yourself."

"Don't make a scene, you idiot!" Vega said back. He held a finger up to the other two men before they could interrupt. "Something's happened. You need to tell Bison. I don't know what's going on. I need to get in touch with him, quickly."

Balrog was unreadable. Vega supposed you don't grow up in Las Vegas without learning a trick like that. "What's your name, princess?"

Vega laughed. Princess. It was what Balrog had always called him, since day one, for not being as disgustingly muscular as him and actually taking care of his appearance. The shock that a man might comb his hair, or use soap, dear God. He sighed loudly, stopping himself from starting a fight. "Vega. Tell Bison that Commander Vega is looking for him. I can't make it back to Shadaloo right now, but he has to fix this, because I don't know how." He spread his hands as he spoke, emphasizing his predicament but never really explaining it.

Balrog narrowed his eyes, but nodded slowly. "You got a number?"

"Yes," Vega said, relieved. Maybe whatever went wrong had gotten to Balrog, too, but certainly Bison would remember him. Hell, he was probably the one who'd caused all of this somehow. Vega looked at his phone, finding the unfamiliar number, and jotting it onto a napkin. "And make it fast. This situation is maddening."

"I don't make any promises," Balrog said. "But I'll relay the message."

"Thank God. You're good for something, at least," Vega muttered. "Pardon the interruption." He nodded to the pair of men on the other side of the table before heading for the bathroom.

"You know that guy?" one of them asked once the babbling stranger left.

Balrog snorted. "Shit, never seen him before in my life. But he sounds like he knows just a little too much." Balrog held up his phone, snapping a quick picture of the guy calling himself a Shadaloo commander. It was grainy given the low light, but it'd do. He attached it to a message directed to his boss: _"I think I got a project for your girls."_

* * *

you all will never know how much grief it has caused me to write badly about pizza in this chapter... D: thank you to the two anonymous reviewers. Fantastic-there are some Chun-Li and Vega stories floating around on here! I can't think of the authors' names, but the stories are "Bleed", "Deep Core Crisis", and "Except Without Strength". Hey-That is a good idea! Maybe once this is finished I will append a short chapter, as I'm not sure I have enough in mind for a whole other story. Thanks for the suggestion :)


	4. Chapter 4

He couldn't think straight. He knew he should've done more than pick at the pizza crust and some bits of melted cheese here and there. It would mean less of a headache later. Drinking had done little to make the night pass by quicker. There was a lot of laughter that he'd only noticed as it happened, leaving him wondering what he'd missed and if it'd been at his expense. Getting back home-but that wasn't home-felt like it'd taken forever. One wobbling step in front of the other. He remembered something about the others going off towards a hotel in the opposite direction. That left him alone with her. So he wondered which was worse-being around all of them, or just one. Now she had no one else to pay attention to.

She put her arm around his waist and he fought the urge to push her into oncoming traffic. "You didn't eat much."

"_N__o como_ peet-sahhh," he said, emphasizing the last word with his best approximation of Ken's accent. He felt like he should've thrown the word 'bro' in there somewhere for authenticity, but couldn't bring himself to say it.

"You drank a lot though. I guess to make up for it?"

He wrinkled his nose, annoyed with the hint of disdain in her voice. Like he was a child who needed to be micro-managed. "Don't criticize my decisions."

"I just feel bad," she clarified. "If you didn't want to eat there, you should've said something. Don't feel like voicing your thoughts isn't allowed with my friends. Okay?"

He let his eyes slide closed as he nodded. "You should be careful to toss around an invitation to my opinion like that. You might regret it."

"That bad, huh?" He could practically hear the smile in her voice. "It's only a couple more days." He hoped not. Maybe things would go back to normal soon since he put in a word to Bison through Balrog. He would never have to sit beside the braying jackass that was Ken Masters ever again.

She led the way back to wherever it was they lived. He wasn't familiar with this place at all and didn't care much to be. When they got inside, he initially dropped onto the bed. But then he remembered it wasn't his, and groaned dramatically into the pillow his face was buried in. Beds were nice, and he was starting to miss sleeping in one after a few days of sleeping at a kitchen table or couch. A glance at his phone told him no one had contacted him so far to get him out of this place. It had only been a few hours. He'd just have to be patient.

"Here."

He looked up from the phone, and on a small plate before him was an offering of apple and banana slices. Was he ten years old? His eyes went from the food up to her. "What?"

"You should eat something," she said.

He sighed loudly, but it wasn't just that he was annoyed. The idea of the food seemed wonderful right now and she knew that. He didn't want her to. He was too annoyed, drunk, and tired to have even bothered cutting all of this up himself. Although, he didn't usually cut bananas into pieces like this. He muttered a begrudging thanks and sat up to take the plate.

"It's okay. I just don't want you to feel sick in the morning."

He paused. "Why?" This was all wrong. His annoyance became a desperate sort of confusion. He wanted so badly to be out of this situation, but so far felt helpless.

"Because I care about you."

He groaned loudly at the response, resting his head in his hands with his palms against his eyes.

"What's the matter?" she asked.

"Stop. You really have to stop."

"Stop what?" He looked up and she was plainly confused. She sat next to him, and put a reassuring hand on his back.

"All of this," he said, throwing out a hand at the room around them. "You keep talking about how you care, you aren't supposed to. We hate each other."

She blinked a few times, definitely not expecting that. "Why would you think I hate you?" she asked calmly, and even that annoyed him. Didn't she ever get upset or worked up or anything to show she was feeling _something?_

"Because-" The word hung in the dark and still air of the apartment. He couldn't say. Couldn't tell her, 'because I work for Shadaloo, the people who killed your dad.' That wasn't true anymore, and it would be like admitting that his life wasn't exactly the most moral or normal. He gritted his teeth. No, his life was fine and he didn't need to measure it by this one. He liked his life, and that was that.

"I can't think of any good reason either," she said. Her hand came up to stroke his hair. He wanted somehow to simultaneously break her arm for touching him and for her to never move again because she looked quite beautiful with only the dim light from outside highlighting the curve of her cheek that way. "I love you, okay?" she said. He felt a sudden emptiness in his stomach. She didn't love him. She loved some strange, bizarre version of himself that wasn't real. He didn't have any more time to think about it, because she kissed him. His thoughts raced as he tried to pick just one way to react. Hurt her, fuck her, tell her off, threaten her, beg her to fix everything for him. She kissed him again, and he returned it this time.

He didn't know why he was going along with this. Even if she thought he was someone else, he knew who she was. But he couldn't bring himself to stop her from sitting in his lap, or from kissing him again. When she started to take off his shirt, he should've used that as his chance to bring himself back to reality. Reality being that they loathed each other, that he could appreciate how beautiful she was and in the same breath want to watch her suffer. But then, he supposed, this wasn't reality, and he should get used to that.

So he let her keep going. Sex became more like a challenge or a competition to most of the women he'd slept with. He lost track of how many times they'd ask him afterwards how they did, like he was keeping score, offering post-coital critiques, or that he would even remember their names. This was different and a bit strange, the way she felt so close, how she buried her face in the crook of his neck, hands coming up to run through his hair as she moved her hips over and over. It was all sort of quiet and calm. He felt less like she was showing off for his benefit, as was often the case with others, and more like she wanted to be impossibly close to him. He stayed quiet, listening to her quick, short breaths beside his ear, letting go a few of his own when he couldn't help it. There was nothing complicated about it, no competition to be had, no shows to put on, and he supposed that was fine.

Her breaths came quicker, her hands finding his face and he flinched. He didn't like when people touched his face, but the building tension between his legs was taking priority over everything else. She was kissing him again, her forehead pressed against his, her thumbs sliding over his cheekbones and her warm breaths crawling over his skin. He felt her lips stop and part, still pressed against his. A long exhalation followed, he squeezed his eyes shut, but that small noise from her made him lose it. He opened his eyes briefly to find hers already on him. They didn't hold desire, like he was expecting. That's all it was supposed to be, desire. But maybe that wasn't the case for her.

He felt her lips on his again, her hips slowing, the excitement waning. She laid back, pulling him with her as she continued to kiss him softly. When she stopped, he stayed there for a moment and concentrated on how it felt. It was like he was trying on clothes or tasting something before committing to it. Her chin rested against his head and he didn't move his head from her chest. He stared across the room at nothing in particular, focusing all attentions on the way her fingers coursed through his hair. Then came the unwelcome reminder that she hadn't been doing this to him, but to who he was supposed to be. A feeling of worthlessness began to creep into his mind and it all became a subject for mockery. How could he have convinced himself that she'd been looking at _him_ with those eyes so full of love? She just didn't know who he was, and she'd hate him all the same if she did. He was so desperate for a glimpse into the sort of intimacy he'd given up on that he'd had sex with her under false pretenses. He was no better than-

Abruptly, he stood up, unable to finish the thought, and she let out a startled little cry. He didn't say anything, and just kept walking until he made it to the bathroom.

He sat in the shower for awhile, unsure of what to do with himself. That unfinished thought hounded him as he closed his eyes as tight as they would go. He felt disgusted for sleeping with her now, but it wasn't like he could take it back. He briefly tried to convince himself he'd done it on purpose, as if to think of her as being conquered now. He wasn't delusional enough to carry the idea very far and didn't like the idea of using sex as an expression of power. He covered his face with his hands as if he could block this train of thought from reaching its conclusion, but it was a little too late. He tried to grasp at some other justification for what he'd done, and it all kept coming back to the same thing. He was reminded too much of the disgusting pig who'd ruined his life. The way the man would force himself on his unwilling wife but she couldn't be unwilling because she was his wife. How his step-father seemed to almost do it to get back at him. To show his step-son who was boss by defiling what he cared about most.

His hands had curled into tight fists, fingernails leaving red marks in his palms and he hadn't even noticed. He forced himself to relax. No, he wasn't like that monster. He hadn't forced her into this. But had he deceived her? He slept with her because he'd been irritated, upset, and the way she'd responded just made him feel so...He couldn't think of a better word than 'good'. She wasn't supposed to do that, and he'd hated that he let her.

He spent over an hour in the bathroom, only part of it in the shower, just because he couldn't face her. He didn't want to hear her say she loved him, or for her to show him any more concern or kindness. He didn't want to take compliments and affection for someone who wasn't him. Didn't he deserve that much, for someone to recognize _him _for who he was and loving that? What was so wrong with him? Nothing. He wasn't wrong. He couldn't be wrong.

She was asleep when he crept back into the room for his clothes. At least the world had given him that much. Quietly, he went out to the couch and managed to fall asleep. But not for too long. It had been several hours when he was startled awake by a noise. He couldn't tell what it was. Something crashing to the ground, maybe. He sat up, and heard someone suck in a shuddering gasp from the bedroom. Was she crying? He looked at his phone. It was a bit past four in the morning. He wasn't going to go make her feel better, it wasn't his job.

There was a heavy thud, and then he heard her shriek his name desperately. He shot to his feet and bolted for the bedroom. Anything that made somebody scream like that wasn't wise to ignore.

"Threat assessed: male, six foot one, approximately one-hundred and sixty pounds." The monotonous voice sent a chill through him, one he hadn't heard in years. The dolls had all been freed nearly a decade ago. But the pair of identically dressed women stood in the room, defensive postures assumed. Satsuki and Santamu. Chun-Li must've been assaulted by one of them. She stood with her legs apart, arms up, ready for them to strike again.

"Subject confirmed: Andres Quesada Navarro. Collateral: Chun-Li Xiang. Commence termination."

"Termination?" he echoed in disbelief. Bison must've made a mistake.

But Santamu and Satsuki begged to differ, pouncing on him immediately. He pressed himself back against the door, Satsuki skidding into the hall as she missed him by a hairs breadth. Santamu slammed a fist into where he'd just been, knuckles cracking loudly against the wood. Chun-Li caught Santamu with a kick to the back of the head, only to be tackled violently by Satsuki. Vega started towards them to separate them, but Santamu recovered, intercepting him. He ducked her fist, driving his elbow into her stomach. She gasped but didn't miss a beat, bringing her knee up to meet his jaw.

Having shaken off the initial surprise of the violent break-in, Chun-Li was trying to match Satsuki blow for blow. The woman was fast, and seemed stronger than any girl her size had any right to be. Chun-Li didn't let it stop her though. Her father had taught her how to defend herself since she was young, and she wasn't going to squander those lessons. Satsuki dropped low, sweeping out one leg, aiming for Chun-Li's ankles. She jumped, planting her feet on the bed and then swinging back one leg. Satsuki held up one gauntlented arm to block. The doll lashed out with her other arm, and Chun-Li spun left, bringing her leg up again once more. This time the strike connected, taking Satsuki in the cheek. She stumbled away from the force of it.

At about the same time, Vega had managed to shove Santamu back against the far wall. Both dolls were preoccupied with regaining their footing for just a second, but that window of time would have to suffice. "Get out of here, now!" Vega demanded. Chun-Li didn't have to be told twice, already running from the room they'd cornered themselves in. She could hear him right behind her, but he wasn't alone. She was just about to reach the door when he crashed into her. Satsuki had collided with him, sending the pair to the ground. Vega pushed Chun-Li hard, and the doll's foot came slamming down where the woman's head had just been.

Vega rolled onto his feet, and launched himself at Satsuki. Chun-Li took a split-second to debate whether she should leave him here to call for help, or help him herself. She couldn't bring herself to abandon him. Santamu made the decision for her, forcing her way between Chun-Li and the door. The stone-faced woman reached behind her, and Chun-Li heard the ringing sound of metal against metal. Her heart leaped into her throat when she saw Santamu brandish a collapsible spear, the pole locking stiffly into place. At about the same time, Satsuki unsheathed the sword on her back.

Chun-Li dipped, ducked, and jumped from every swipe and stab of the spear. She couldn't get close to her opponent, but she couldn't keep dodging that blade forever. Vega found himself in a similar situation. But the sword had a shorter reach. He backed away towards the kitchen instead, swiping one of the knives from the block on the counter. It wasn't much compared to the sword, but it was something. Metal clanged against metal, and he hissed when her blade sliced a neat red path down his forearm. He pushed forward, catching her on the shoulder.

In the living room, Chun-Li narrowly missed being eviscerated. Adrenaline coursed through her, and she let out a wild cry as she launched one of the smaller end tables at her opponent with a kick. She was happy now that she hadn't opted for something more expensive made from something heavier than particleboard. It struck Santamu square in the chest, sending the woman stumbling back. Chun-Li hopped forward, her foot aching from the force with which she'd slammed it into the table. She was suddenly met with the bite of the spear. It hooked into her night shirt, and a fine line of blood sprang up alongside her ribs. She persisted, leaping up and slamming into Santamu. The two hit the ground with Chun-Li straddling the woman's stomach and struggling with her for control of the spear.

Vega desperately wondered when the dolls had become so fast and powerful. They'd been formidable, certainly, but he'd always been able to handle them. He'd helped trained them, so he knew what they were capable of. It was just another discrepancy to add to the burgeoning list of problems he faced here. As if the doll heard his question, sparks of bright purple coursed along Satsuki's arms as she thrust her blade forward with a blow that would've left his guts on the floor if he hadn't sprung away. He wondered if he'd imagined it. They couldn't be imbued with psycho power. It would destroy them. He saw a brief opening, and took it, charging into her. His shoulder met her chest, and he heard her gasp as they hit the wall.

Satsuki brushed the attack aside, taking her target into a rough headlock before pulling him down to the ground with her. She rolled onto him with inhuman speed, driving her knee between his shoulder blades. Her other leg found one of his arms, pinning it to the cold tile floor. Vega gasped for air and suddenly his head was yanked back by a hand in his hair. He heard a blade whistle through the air as Satsuki drew her sword back. He was trapped, pinned under her, he could barely breathe. How was she strong enough to keep him down? He kicked frantically, trying to somehow gain leverage and failing. It wasn't going to end like this, he wasn't going to die here, confused in a world that he didn't know. He had to stop her, he must've missed something-

The thought struck him and he wondered how he hadn't seen it sooner. As she pulled again on his hair, forcing him to expose his neck for her blade, he shouted out practically all in one word as he rushed to say it, "End termination sequence subject zero zero alpha kappa sigma end collateral zero zero chi lambda xi end!" The strangled words had barely made it out of his mouth when he felt the doll stiffen on his back. Santamu fell limp beneath Chun-Li, and both dolls awaited their orders. He laughed hysterically, surprised that it had even worked.

Still shaking from the rush of the fight, Chun-Li glanced over to Vega, horrified at how close he'd come to having his throat slit by the woman still pinning him to the ground. The way he laughed frightened her, and she managed to ask, "What's going on?"

"Desist offensive sequence, stand by, end," he said between peals of laughter. At once, the two women rose to their feet stoically, and sheathed their weapons. Chun-Li watched warily. How did he know how to tell them to stop? Who were these women, and why had they broken into their apartment to kill them?

Vega pushed himself to his feet, his eyes on Satsuki the whole time. He had to be cautious.

"How did you know to do that?" Chun-Li whispered, as if a loud noise would break the spell. Slowly, she drew her hand up and pressed it into her side to stem the blood flow.

He didn't answer her. He backed towards the couch, still watching the dolls. He felt for his phone. Chun-Li listened as he calmly reported the attack to-she assumed-the police. His hands were shaking, and blood was running down his arm. When he hung up, she said again, "Andres, what is going on here?"

Finally, he looked at her, as if just noticing her for the first time. "They were going to kill us," he said.

"Why? Who are they? How did you stop them?" she asked.

He hesitated. To say the truth would make him sound insane. That he'd given those orders himself many times before when training them-though, never with a target designation that meant his own name. So he shrugged, hoping she wouldn't push the issue.

"No," she said sternly. He hadn't heard her take that tone in all his time here. It was one he was more used to hearing. "No, you don't shrug something like that off! Tell me what's going on!"

He winced as he ran his arm under the water in the sink. It ran pink against the white basin. He tried to think of a convincing lie. "I read a news articles about that Shadaloo organization. One of them interviewed someone who survived an attack. He said those words, and it made them stop." He shrugged again, but this time at his inarticulate explanation. A headache was making itself known, now that the rush of the fight was over. "I thought it was worth trying."

She blinked a few times. "Interesting coincidence," she said, and he slammed the lever on the faucet shut.

"I almost had my throat cut open. What do you want me to say?" he snapped. He thought he'd been pretty patient through all of this, and didn't have any more in him to spare. She looked startled, but stayed quiet. Good enough for him. He turned his eyes back to the dolls, still standing rigidly at attention and waiting for orders. It had him frantically searching for reasons Bison would find it necessary to have him killed. Nothing sprang to mind, but then, what did he know? His other self could have been involved in Shadaloo's business somehow. Maybe that was why he had obsessively collected all of those articles in that book. What was he to do now? His last chance at figuring things out had just turned on him. He couldn't bring himself to kill either of the dolls, but letting them return to Shadaloo to report their failure would just make Bison come down on him that much harder. So they were the problem of the police, now. He couldn't ensure they wouldn't get back to Bison somehow or another, and all he could do was hope.


	5. Chapter 5

He'd told her not to tell the police what he'd said to the dolls. He couldn't risk the police becoming suspicious of him. Chun-Li had agreed to remain quiet on the matter, but seemed wary of him. She wasn't used to him yelling at her, but he didn't know that.

The police took the pair of assassins at around five in the morning. Satsuki and Santamu were still on stand-by, refusing to respond to the inquiries of anyone who didn't know how to speak to them. It was a failsafe, and kept them from revealing anything important. They didn't resist arrest due to the threat assessments they were likely processing. Too many guns, too small a space. He wasn't sure if the cops would get them to a prison alive, but once the dolls were out of here, they weren't his problem anymore. Until they got back to Shadaloo, at least.

Before the police had left, Chun-Li's father and Guile had come over. They'd had to wait until the cops were gone to get into the apartment. When they did, Chun-Li threw her arms around her dad and didn't seem willing to let go. She tearfully exchanged words with him in Chinese. Vega couldn't help but be amused by how frightened she was by all of this. It was just another day in the life. She'd fought much worse than a pair of dolls before.

"You all right?" He looked up at the larger man beside him. Guile indicated his arm. "Looks pretty nasty."

"It's fine."

"What went on, exactly?"

Vega shrugged. "They broke in and tried to kill us."

"Maybe they had the wrong place," Guile offered, trying to rationalize the situation. He knew Chun-Li would never get caught up in anything that would have someone coming to murder her. He didn't really know about her boyfriend though. He got a weird feeling when talking to the man, like he was looking at some thin veneer of civility. Like he was straining to remain agreeable. He thought of Chun-Li as generally having good judgement of character, and he hated to speak ill of someone he didn't really know. But there was something, to put it plainly, wrong about this guy. So he prodded. "You don't seem all that shaken up by this."

"Shock, perhaps, I don't know," Vega said.

"You ever been in a fight before?" He knew Chun-Li had grown up learning self-defense from her dad. She taught other people in turn, but had never really had serious cause to use it. He understood how she could hold her own in a fight. But what about her boyfriend?

Vega hesitated to respond. He normally didn't mind people asking him about himself, but it was difficult when he didn't know the answers. "Not really," he said, taking a stab in the dark. An answer of yes could imply some kind of violent history, and he couldn't risk it.

Guile nodded, but didn't say anything else. What kind of a mess had this guy gotten himself into, and was Chun-Li going to let herself be dragged into it? Not if he had anything to do with it. He didn't have more to say, and stepped back over to Chun-Li and Dorai. Another anomaly. What kind of boyfriend didn't comfort his girlfriend after they'd just survived a pretty intense near death experience? He glanced back at the man in question. He was leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets, lost in thought. Guile was beginning to like him less and less.

"You all right?" he asked Chun-Li. He'd given her and Dorai a minute, not wanting to be in the way. She nodded up at him, but she still seemed shaken up. He noticed the blood on her shirt. Her hand went to her side.

"I'm lucky that this is all that happened. Those women were something else," she said.

"How do you mean?" he asked.

"They were so fast and strong. I mean, I'm not usually fighting people a lot, but it was just..." she trailed off, closing her eyes. "I don't know how to describe it."

"I'm happy you're okay." He patted her shoulder. "Listen, can I talk to you alone for a minute?" She looked a little surprised, but nodded. She led him back to the bedroom, where the window was still open from the attack. Those women had snuck in through it, quiet as mice. She shuddered to think of the way she woke up, alone in her bed and that horrifying feeling of realizing there were people in her room who shouldn't be. She tried to put the thought out of her mind, knowing she'd be reliving the moment over and over each time she tried to sleep again.

"What's the matter?" she asked Guile.

"Your boyfriend. Is he..." he waved a hand as he searched for a polite way to phrase his question. "Involved in any kind of illicit activity?"

"No," she said quickly. "He's never been into anything illegal."

"That you know of," Guile said.

"Period," she corrected. "You know my dad. As soon as I told him I'd met a boy in Paris, he was running background checks before I even got off the phone." She sighed, able to tell Guile was still weighing her boyfriend's character.

"I don't know how safe it is for you to stay here."

"Well, where would anyone be safe from a break in?" she asked.

"This wasn't just a random break in. They tried to kill you two. And I have a feeling it isn't you they were here for, exactly."

She was quiet, remembering how one of the women had said something about terminating her boyfriend, and she had been 'collateral'. They'd named him specifically as a target, and she just happened to be a witness who needed taken care of. It made her wonder what he'd done to bring this on. If anything. But he wasn't a bad person, she knew it in her heart. "Why? Why would someone want to kill him?"

Guile shrugged. "Maybe he borrowed some money from the wrong people. Maybe he has some bad habits you just don't know about. Shadaloo has its finger in a lot of pies. Say he bought drugs or something. Maybe he stiffed the dealer. Dealer gets his supply from somebody and that somebody could be the biggest terrorist organization on the planet. They don't like being wronged, even over the small stuff."

"That's ridiculous. He doesn't do drugs."

"It was just an example. Shadaloo doesn't make a habit of killing people half a world away without some reason. And Andres isn't exactly the usual target in so far as being an active threat to them-lawyers, cops, district attorneys, politicians..." She looked troubled now. He could see she was biting on the inside of her cheek.

"He has seemed distant lately. A little different. I thought-I mean, he's sick. Don't tell anyone, please, but he's had mental issues ever since his mom died. It comes and it goes, and I thought, maybe it's just that. So I'm trying not to pressure him to behave any certain way." She looked up at Guile. "But maybe it's not. Maybe you're right."

He held up a hand. "Don't jump to any conclusions just yet. But keep your mind open to the possibility, is all I'm saying. There might be a lot about him you don't know." He looked up towards the door. "If something like this happens again, I'd greatly prefer it if you came back to New York. I'm sure your dad would, too."

She hesitated, but ultimately nodded slowly. It would make him feel better. But she couldn't truthfully say she'd be willing to abandon her boyfriend so easily. She just couldn't see what had happened to make someone want to kill him. Maybe it was a mistake altogether, and they had meant to find some other guy. Some other guy with his exact name. Whatever the reason for all this, she couldn't judge anyone yet. She just had to hope this was all some kind of fluke, and that they'd both be okay.

As the two spoke, it left Vega alone with Dorai. At first, he hadn't noticed, too absorbed in his own thoughts. Then the other man spoke. "I'm glad you're both okay. You don't often hear about survivors when it comes to things like this."

Vega nodded. He really didn't relish the idea of speaking with Chun-Li's father.

"Listen." The man stepped a little closer, lowering his voice. Vega felt a hand on his shoulder and suppressed a grimace. He was being touched by the dead father of one of his most hated enemies. He could not begin to think of a stranger sentence than that. "I'm not going to judge you. But if you've gotten involved in something, and you need help..."

Vega's lips twitched up at the implication. "It's nothing like that," he said. "I have no idea why this is happening." He did, but he couldn't say. He regretted ever approaching Balrog in that restaurant. Of course Bison wasn't going to react well to someone identifying one of his highest-ranking officials. He'd been so desperate to get back to reality he hadn't stopped to think about it.

"There's no shame in admitting to the problems we face," Dorai said calmly and it just pissed him off more. He didn't have any problems but the big glaring one, and he hadn't brought that on himself. Someone was bent on torturing him, that was all he could conclude. "Is it money? Drugs?" The words hadn't been accusatory, but Vega despised them all the same.

"No," he said, willing himself to stay calm and not blow up in this man's face.

Dorai nodded. "I just want you to know that the offer of help is always going to be there. Whatever it is. We don't have to talk about it with anybody. I just want to make sure you two are safe."

"I appreciate it," he forced himself to say, though he couldn't look the older man in the eye.

"It's what dads do," he answered with a reassuring smile. _I wouldn't know_, Vega thought bitterly at the man. "Chun-Li really loves you. She thinks the world of you, and I like seeing her so happy. I don't want anything to happen to that." The edge to that bitterness sharpened. So he made her happy. And that's what was wrong.

The day turned out to be cold, grey, and windy. Snow fell relentlessly, and the weather served as a deterrent from any kind of outdoor activity. Ken complained that even the fifteen minute walk from the hotel to the apartment had been enough to numb his face. Vega wished it would've stayed that way so he wouldn't have to hear the man talk. Dorai and Guile hadn't left as they waited for the other visitors to arrive. It'd been incredibly uncomfortable. Vega didn't want to be there to begin with. Being sat down and spoken to about his 'options' and those little hints they made about him, implying he was involved in some petty activity that had angered Shadaloo made it even worse. He wanted to tell them Shadaloo didn't send the dolls after people who cheated drug dealers. Little scuffles like that weren't worth Bison's time.

But he'd had to just nod and insist he didn't know what was going on, that he was happy to hear their advice as law enforcement officers, and that he hoped this had all been some strange mistake. He was finally able to excuse himself to go take a shower and get ready to face another miserable day full of pretending to be friends with people he couldn't stand. While Guile had treated him with outright suspicion, Chun-Li's father was just insistent with his offer of help. Vega had to deny over and over that he'd done anything to draw Shadaloo's attention. He couldn't tell the truth. They'd think he was insane. As far as everyone else was concerned, he apparently was, so there was no point in that discussion. He just had to keep pretending that he didn't know what all of this was about until it blew over.

It was as horrible a way to start a morning as any other he could think of. The subject was eventually dropped, and the others arrived with bags in tow. Vega was pained to think of what that implied. Surely he would not be forced to share such a small space with all of these people. He'd rather be outside in the snow and biting wind than spend an entire day under the same roof as Ken Masters.

But that was exactly what he was forced to do. He kept praying that something would come up, forcing all of them to leave. Even a simple errand needing to be run would have been a blessing. The bags had been full of what he'd been afraid of-board games, video games, groceries, beer. This was not him. The last thing he wanted to do with his spare time was play a game with anyone. Beer disgusted him, and he hated to think of what the groceries were, given Ken's affinity for horrible food. He'd announced that he and Eliza were going to make dinner, and those words came out like a death sentence. Not only did it mean he'd have to eat with these people again, but it meant they'd be here for a very long time. Wasn't there something he could excuse himself to go work on? No, he didn't even know what he did for a living yet. This day was shaping up to be so painfully average, and he hated it. He hated being boxed in with these people, hated their stupid, boring games, and felt very desperate for some sort of adrenaline-fueled venture to make up for how horribly plain everything had been. The fight with the Dolls now seemed to him the highlight of his past week, because at least that had gotten his heart pumping.

"How have you never played a video game before?" Ken asked incredulously as he hooked up the console to the television. Vega didn't even regularly watch TV, much less play any games with it. "Sit down, I'll teach you."

He wanted to scream at him. No more games, no more teaching, he didn't want to hear Ken's voice ever again in all his life. "I don't know if-" he started, and had to restrain himself from lashing out with a fist when Ken talked over him.

"Ah, don't worry so much, it's easy, I promise," he insisted, giving Vega a controller. It felt foreign in his hands and seemed complicated. There were so many buttons, even on the top. Vega felt like his eyes had glazed over as Ken explained to him what all of the buttons were for. "You'll get the hang of it."

"Oh, this is going to be good," Chun-Li said as she took a place on the couch beside Eliza.

"Have more faith in your man," Ken said. "He's going to need it."

"The only video game Andres has ever played is Pac Man, and he spent more time wondering what the story was supposed to be than actually playing the game," Chun-Li explained. She did a poor impression of him, meant to be affectionate, "'How does one eat a ghost? What is even a pac-man, anyway'?"

"I do _not _sound like that," Vega muttered.

"So," Ken said, looking at the screen. "You should probably pick the Soldier."

Vega squinted. They all looked like soldiers, wearing armor and holding guns. "How?"

Ken held back a laugh and showed him. "Okay, so the point is to basically kill all the bad guys and do the missions the game tells you to do."

Vega listened as the game talked, saying something about 'enemy personnel' and 'data retrieval' and suddenly he saw something move. He looked down at the buttons and tried to remember which one Ken had said would fire a gun.

"Dude, that's me." He heard Eliza laugh, and he felt someone pat him on the shoulder. "Okay, _that _is the enemy. Kill them." He was going to kill something alright.

"Why are they against us?" Vega asked.

"It doesn't matter, it's a game," Ken said, grinning. "You're starting to remind me of Ryu."

Vega didn't really like that comparison. He didn't say anything though, since he wasn't supposed to know Ryu. He tried to focus on the screen, but all of those monsters were moving fast and he couldn't keep up. He kept having to look at the controller and try to remember what the buttons did. He pushed something and there was a big explosion.

"Nooo," Ken wailed. "Save those, we'll need them when the fifth wave comes."

"Fifth wave?" Vega echoed. This was entirely too much. He had no idea what that meant.

"Oh, you killed one of them," Chun-Li chimed in. "Better than I expected." Even she, his supposed girlfriend, had no confidence in him.

"Ah!" Vega said suddenly. Something hit his person, the controller shook in his hands as one of the monsters started chomping on his character's neck.

"Push B!"

"What is B?!" Vega shouted, caught up in the moment as the enemy continued to assault his character. Ken only laughed back, leaving him to fend for himself. He looked down, found the button, and pushed it over and over until finally his player broke free, punched the creature in the face, then stomped on it.

"Nice!" Ken said. "See, you're getting it."

"I don't-" He looked back up in time to see some enormous monster lumber out into the area. It drew back a massive arm, and charged, slamming into his character and pounding it into the ground. "Oh!" he cried. "What the hell is that?!"

"I told you to save your rockets, dude," Ken sighed. "It's all right, though, I'm used to this. I could probably solo platinum, so bronze is like a walk in the park."

Vega had no idea what that meant. Guile said, "It sounds like you need to go outside more often, Ken."

Vega decided he was done trying to figure out video games for now. So what if Ken was better than him at this? He had no interest in it to begin with. He set aside the controller for whoever was willing to take it. It'd be best if he could find a reason to not be in that room with all of those people anyway. But there wasn't really anywhere to go. He stepped into the kitchen, and even that little bit of extra space felt refreshing. As he grabbed a drink, he noticed some of the food Ken and Eliza had brought here. There had been fish in the fridge. And were those sheets of nori on the counter? The prospect of Ken making a meal that wasn't absolutely disgusting was a welcome one. "You're going to make sushi?" he asked, a little surprised.

"Yeah," Ken answered back, distracted as he was engaged in a different game with Chun-Li.

"We normal people are probably going to eat sandwiches if you want actual food instead," Guile added.

"You won't even try it, so I don't know how you know you don't like it," Dorai said.

"Don't be silly, dad," Chun-Li said. She suddenly deepened her voice in an impression of Guile, and said, "That's not what family men go home and do."

Ken cackled loudly. "I say that _once_, and you people won't let me live it down," Guile muttered.

Vega spent a lot of the time moving around. Being in the room with all of them was like being underwater. He had to leave the area and come up for air. Just as the night before, he only listened to about half of what any of them were saying, and answered as politely as he could any of the questions directed at him. He felt trapped in here with them. Pacing around the place helped a little bit, reminding him there were rooms to go to that had no people in them, that he could be alone for a few minutes. Ken commented once about Vega's inability to sit still for more than twenty minutes, and before he could make a remark about Ken's inability to not be a jackass for more than two minutes, Chun-Li was already defending him. It was strange, to say the least, hearing her stick up for him.

He deigned to play one game with them in the interest of keeping in character. It was something that involved making words out of tiles of letters as fast as possible. They played a few rounds and he was happy that he'd won all of them except for one, which Julia had won. After the fourth round, Ken seemed to be frustrated, which just served to please Vega all the more. "Okay, are some of those even real words? Is it Spanish? That's not allowed," he'd said as he squinted at the tiles on the floor.

"They're English words," Vega said, finally feeling good about something. He'd managed to annoy Ken.

"Take the loss like a man, Masters," Guile said from his spot on the couch. He'd watched a few rounds, knowing full well how horrible he was at word games.

"Well, I didn't know I'd be up against the human dictionary here," Ken muttered with a shrug. He really didn't like losing, but didn't take it personally. To make that clear, he said to Vega, "You're a beast, dude."

"What?" he asked, maybe a little sharply. He didn't like being compared to an animal, and people in Shadaloo made comments like that behind his back with regularity. The claw invited the comparison, and his savage and relentless nature supplied the rest.

"He means you're really good at this game," Eliza clarified.

Embarrassment quickly replaced the irritation. "Oh," he said, looking back down at the letters. He scrambled the letters with one hand, deciding he'd had enough.

He carved away at the time, little by little, glancing at his phone every so often to reassure himself the world was still turning. It was difficult, being so civil towards her friends like this. He tried to keep telling himself this wasn't the worst thing he'd ever had to do. That this should be child's play. Some things, though, were easier said than done.

He'd watched rather patiently as Ken bickered his way through the process of making sushi with Eliza. He didn't say anything, and no one really said anything to him, being more absorbed in other conversations at the moment. He steeled himself as he realized with dinner came discussions that weren't interrupted by video games or something just as menial. The possibility that they'd ask him more about himself was one he recognized, much as he didn't want to. He was trying to come up with different ways to answer things that might elicit more of an explanation from Chun-Li to avoid getting anything wrong.

"Bam!" Ken said suddenly, getting everyone's attention. "A butt-load of delicious food is now served."

"Why on Earth would you associate eating with the word 'butt'?" Chun-Li said.

"There's something he needs to tell us about how he spends his evenings, I'm sure," Vega said, taking his chin in his hand as he leaned his elbows onto the counter. Any chance to embarrass Ken seemed like it was worth taking. But Ken seemed almost invulnerable to shame.

"I thought we'd tell them together, dear," Ken said without missing a beat, reaching over the counter and taking Vega's free hand. He fought the urge to pull away. He refused to allow such a reversal.

"Oh my God," Eliza sighed. "Why am I marrying you?"

"Because I'm amazing and perfect and everything you ever dreamed of in a man," Ken said, handing her a plate. She stuck her tongue out at him before turning away and finding a seat. They all found a place, and Vega was fine with his spot being a bit further away from the rest of them. He hoped that it would make them notice him a bit less. But that hope was quickly dashed as the first question was directed towards him.

"So, you start work on Monday, don't you, Andres?" Julia asked politely.

He nodded, supposing it sounded like it could be true.

"What do you do again?" Guile wondered. Vega couldn't help but think there was an ulterior motive to the question. Like he was being sized up. He recalled their earlier conversation that morning, and the way Guile had seemed so suspicious.

"Art," he said. It was right, sure, but what he _did _with art was a question he still didn't have an answer to.

"I think he means the teaching at the university," Chun-Li supplied and he could've thrown his arms around her for it.

"Yes," he said quickly. Then the reality sunk in and he wanted to frown. Teaching? He wasn't liking the sound of that.

"How do you teach art? It sounds hard, like you either know it or you don't," Eliza said, nose wrinkled. She was like a cute little animal, and seemed about as bright.

"It's like anything else," Vega replied. "It requires practice and hard work." Thankfully, the conversation turned towards other topics. Topics that required much less input from him, though his opinion was asked after every now and then.

"I saw those pictures of you guys in those mountains," he heard Eliza say. "You guys are seriously brave to be hanging off of cliffs and stuff."

"Oh, I'm brave," Chun-Li said. "But not that brave. All of the cliff-hanging and jumping on precarious rocks is Andres, not me."

"Sounds dangerous," Guile commented. Vega wanted to laugh. If only the man knew the extent of the dangerous things he'd done in his life.

"Dangerous pretty much inherently equals fun most of the time, that's just how it is," Ken said with a shrug.

"That's really stupid," Guile said. Like a dad scolding a child.

"Come on, I just mean, it's no coincidence the most extreme sports are also the most enjoyable. Back me up dude, I'm defending you here," Ken said, half-joking as he glanced over to Vega.

"'Every man takes the limits of his own field of vision for the limits of the world'," he put in, somewhat amused by Guile's stubborn attitude towards their penchant for risk-taking.

"Schopenhauer," Dorai said suddenly, and Vega looked up. He hadn't really expected anyone to recognize the quote. "Also a noted misogynist and hypocrite."

"We all have our flaws, I suppose," he responded.

"Hopefully not those same ones," Dorai said. He still made an effort to sound friendly. But Vega wondered how much of it was an act. Vega imagined if he had a daughter, he wouldn't ever be pleased with any man who tried to date her, and it made him curious as to what Dorai must have thought of him. He appeared amicable enough, given their earlier conversation. He couldn't know for sure, certain the man was not tactless enough to outright speak poorly of him to his face. It was a discussion he would have to save for later, if later ever came.

* * *

I don't mean to come off as pretentious by throwing around philosophers names or anything. I know nothing about philosophy and couldn't hold my own in a conversation. But Vega was described as 'intelligent', and i imagine his intelligence to be geared more towards humanities than STEM subjects, if that makes sense...

Thank you also to anonymous reviewer, Kaptu, it was very flattering ^^


	6. Chapter 6

Her father stayed over that evening, tentatively asking permission. Vega knew it would sound strange and suspicious to say no, regardless of how much he wanted to. He didn't like the implication that he wasn't capable of defending himself. But Dorai was more concerned with Chun-Li's well being than taking any stabs at Vega's self-sufficiency. The older man was much more upset by the break-in than he let on, hesitant to come off as too overbearing to his daughter. With the couch taken up by someone else, Vega found himself forced to sleep in the bed with her. It was something made even stranger by the presence of her father. He'd never met the parents of any women he'd been involved with, as those flings were usually over pretty quickly. This left him at a bit of a loss. How was he expected to act? Then he wondered why he cared at all. He'd never given a damn about the opinions of his own 'father figure'. Why would he bother starting now?

In an effort to minimize consciously sharing such an intimate space with Chun-Li, Vega went to sleep earlier than he normally would have. That left Chun-Li some time with her father. She kept in regular contact with him, but didn't get to see him as often as she liked. His presence here made her feel safer. It wasn't that her boyfriend didn't. But there was something about being with her dad that gave her confidence that things weren't going to go wrong, that nothing bad would happen. Or that even if they did, she could look to him to know exactly what to do and things would be okay. Obviously, that wasn't always true, but the feeling was comforting.

"I'm so happy to see you again," she said, settling onto the couch next to him. She was ready to show him some pictures. He was still a bit old-fashioned, and wasn't on any kind of social networking sites. She supposed she could e-mail them to him, but in a way, she preferred this. Saving her pictures and some of the stories until the next time they met made the exchange feel more sentimental.

"I'm glad you found your way back around these parts," he said. He'd moved to New York with his work. After his close brush with Shadaloo in China years ago, he'd been relocated to the United States to work in one of Interpol's offices. Gone were the days of chasing criminals on foot. He missed the action sometimes, but not the risks. He was always reminded that he'd made the right decision when he saw his daughter again.

She shrugged. "I liked Europe, don't get me wrong. I made a lot of good friends. But I'm happy to be closer to you and Ken and Eliza and everybody else. We're all like a big family by now, so it was kind of hard being apart from everybody." Guile had been her father's partner in their work on Shadaloo for some time. The man was at first hesitant to be working with Dorai, preferring to work alone. But the two eventually became better friends, and Chun-Li took a liking to both him and his wife. Julia was always there for her like an older sister, and had made the transition from China to America a lot easier. It wasn't long before she was introduced to Julia's little sister and her boyfriend, Ken. The three of them became fast friends and did practically everything together. When she'd been accepted to a school in France, she'd had a hard time filling her days without them.

"Well, we're always here if you ever need us," he said. "You know that."

She nodded. "Yeah. This weekend's flying by kind of fast though." She thought about the attack, and bit back mentioning it as part of the reason why. It made her wonder why she was willing to stay here another night. She kept trying to tell herself the police had arrested the women, but it provided little comfort. Her father had advised that she should consider moving, but she couldn't bring herself to abandon her boyfriend that way. She thought of trying to convince Andres to look for a job somewhere else. He had to be as shaken up by this as her, even if he wouldn't express it.

"You'll see us again next weekend, don't worry."

"Oh! Right, Ken and Eliza's wedding. Wow, they've been together forever!" she said.

"Marriage is a serious dedication, so it's better to take your time than to rush it." He smiled a little, and waved his hand. "But that's a conversation for another day. Why don't you show me your photos?"

"Okay. We went to China a few months ago. He's never been, so I had to bring him to see it." She recounted some of the more pertinent details of the trip, sharing her pictures with her dad. She wasn't a great photographer by any means, but that wasn't the point. She laughed as she told him how his teachings had come in handy when someone tried to mug them. She'd disarmed the criminal with a swift kick, and knocked him down with another to the face. Andres had made a joke about being a total wimp compared to her. "He should probably learn a thing or two, really."

"He's not much of a fighter, then?" Dorai asked. It wasn't that he disapproved of Chun-Li being the one to get the pair out of a tough spot. He worried to think of her getting into such situations, but it made him proud to know how strong of a daughter he'd raised.

She shook her head. "No, never known him to really fight with anybody."

"So you fought those two women by yourself last night?" An impressive feat, if that was the case.

"No," she said. "We were each sort of facing off against one of them. It was really frightening."

He nodded slowly. It was an even more impressive feat that someone who couldn't defend himself against a mugger had fought with a Shadaloo assassin and survived. They had limited information on Shadaloo's ranks, but the all-female squad referred to as the dolls were known to have never spared a target. Everyone they faced, they killed, and even people with teams of protectors had fallen to them. Something about the situation seemed off, like he was missing something. "It's really a miracle the two of you are still alive." It pained him to have to ever say a sentence like that to his daughter. He couldn't fathom what painted them as a target, other than one thought he didn't want to face. That his role as an Interpol officer had led Bison to target him where it really hurt-by attacking his daughter. It was the only thing he could think of, if Chun-Li's boyfriend really was as clean as he said. He made a mental note to remember to run a more current background check on the young man.

"Yeah, I'm sorry, I don't want to think about it," she said. It was true, but she also didn't want to be put in a position where she had to choose between her father and her boyfriend. Andres had asked her not to tell anyone how he'd handled their would-be killers. But if her dad asked more about it, could she really lie to him?

"Of course," Dorai said, putting an arm around her. He decided it was a good time to change the subject, anyway. "How do you like the city so far?"

"I'm still new to it," she said. "I look forward to getting to explore it more as it warms up."

"This weather is something else," he agreed, nodding.

"Yes, but there's a lot to do here, so I'm sure we can find a good way to spend our free time."

"You two be careful around here," he advised. He couldn't help it. Chicago was not exactly one of the safer cities to live in.

"All the time." She smiled up over at her father. "Don't worry so much, okay?"

He smiled back, but how could he not? Was his work still putting their lives at risk, even when he conducted it from behind the scenes? Or was her boyfriend hiding more about himself than any of them realized? "I'll try," he conceded. They wrapped up their conversation, growing too tired to stay awake much longer. Chun-Li hugged him before heading off to bed, feeling slightly guilty. She knew she had to go to sleep sometime, but she couldn't shake the feeling that she should be spending every moment she had with her father before he left for New York. She tried to tell herself it was just a combination of anxiety from the attack and the amount of time she'd gone without seeing him in person.

She moved quietly into the bedroom, and glanced around. Just as things should be. No extra people. No open windows. How long it would take before the paranoia wore off? She looked over the person in the bed as if to reassure herself it wasn't a stranger laying there. Not someone waiting for her to slip into bed and let down her guard before they sprang on her. She shook her head, trying not to think too much about such a situation. She changed into her usual sleeping clothes before silently getting into bed.

Laying awake was like torture, but she couldn't fall asleep. Her nerves were rattled by every sound, and there were a lot of them. Mostly from outside, though there was the occasional sudden crack or pop of the place settling, or the hum as the heat kicked on. A week was not enough time to know all of the noises a home could make. Her insomnia was made worse every time she closed her eyes. She began to imagine someone slinking quietly into the dark room. It became impossible not to look around again, and the cycle began anew. Of course there was nothing there. Of course she was just scaring herself. Taking even, deep breaths, she tried to relax.

An hour must've passed with her trying to force herself to sleep. She looked over at Andres. He made it look easy. Slowly, she reached over to him, finding his arm. The contact, she thought, might help make her feel calmer. Just the reassuring knowledge that someone else was there with her could possibly get her to sleep. She realized it'd been a few days since he'd even slept in the same bed as her. It made her miss him in a way. She told herself that was silly, that it wasn't as if he'd abandoned her. She tried to remember that everyone had their own issues they were dealing with, and that she shouldn't take it personally if he slept on the couch every now and then. If she just gave him time, she was sure he'd go back to being just as affectionate as before. With that in mind, she reflexively squeezed his hand as she held it to her chest. "It's you," he whispered suddenly, and she felt guilty for having woken him up.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you," she said, turning her head a little to look at him.

"No, don't ever be sorry," he said, voice still quiet and a little strange. She felt a fluttering in her stomach as he touched her cheek, caressing her skin with his thumb. "I found you."

The warm and fuzzy feelings began to disappear, replaced now with concern at the strange, almost desperate way he was speaking to her. His eyes looked as if they weren't focusing on her completely, like he was looking through her and not at her. He must've been dreaming, or talking in his sleep. He didn't usually do that, but it was all she could think of to explain the way his voice sounded and how his eyes looked. "Are you okay Andres?" she asked, turning over to face him.

"My name, you know my name, it's really you," he whispered, and were tears springing up in his eyes? She was seriously concerned now. She sat up, and his hand fell limply from her cheek to the bed. He reacted slowly and shook his head. "I didn't want this to happen."

"What do you mean?"

"Please just don't-" He stopped suddenly, and it was like he'd somehow awakened from already being awake. Like he'd snapped out of a trance. Now with a sort of rushed grogginess, he said, "What? Let go." He shook her hand from his, and she drew it back to her chest.

"Are you okay?" she asked cautiously. Whatever had happened, he was over it. She wasn't. He'd sounded so upset, so far away, so desperate. Like he could barely see her.

"_No tocame_." She watched as he laid back down, facing away from her. She leaned over slowly to get a better look at his face. His eyes were closed, he looked placid, and his breathing was even.

She pressed her lips together as she decided that he must've been dreaming. She hoped that was the case, the alternative being a more serious problem. That was a conclusion she didn't want to jump to so quickly. Sometimes people just did odd things when they got to a point between sleep and lucidity. She laid back down, concern still gnawing at her. It took some time, but she eventually slept.

In the morning, Vega was left alone while she saw her friends off. They went out for breakfast, and he wasn't obligated to go along. He claimed he had work to do, and he did. Through conversations with Chun-Li and her friends the previous day, he learned he had a job teaching. _Teaching. _The only thing he'd taught in his life were the myriad ways to murder someone, to a class of about thirteen brainwashed young women. Yes, he was good at it, but surely it wasn't the sort of thing a university was looking for in a professor. There was also that word, 'professor'. It made him sound distinguished, but also old, so he hated it. His whole morning had been spent anguishing over whether or not he should go through with going to the university tomorrow and actually working. The prospect of compensation was nice, but the means by which he'd be getting it was not. In the end, he decided to go. He couldn't tell how long he would be stuck here and having no way to earn money wasn't a good idea. There was also the reassuring fact that Bison generally never had targets killed in public places like schools. He was more at risk staying in the apartment by himself all day than going out.

He got on the computer with the intention of seeing if his other self had anything that would clue him in on how, exactly, to teach a class. Or even what kind of classes he was teaching to begin with. He ended up picking through some of the local news sites, finding reports about the Dolls who'd attacked him and Chun-Li. Word traveled fast. Murders were certainly not unspeakable in Chicago. But one attempted by Shadaloo was newsworthy. The women who'd been arrested were quickly recognized as two of the eleven missing girls rumored to have been kidnapped by the terrorist organization years ago. They were silent throughout their arrest, never saying anything to give themselves away. They were in custody for the weekend before disappearing as if they'd never been there to begin with. No security footage revealed anything. They were simply gone.

He knew it was bound to happen. He thought at first that Bison had sent someone to break them out. But then he remembered the way Satsuki's limbs had sparked with the violet crackle of psycho power, and he began to wonder if they'd used it to escape. If that was the case, would they be coming back to try to kill him? He'd ended their attack sequence, which should have meant they'd leave him alone. At least, until someone else gave them new instructions. The weekend seemed to be passing without further incident. Maybe it'd stay that way until he could make it back to the real world.

Monitoring the news on the Dolls brought a startling event to his attention. Websites were buzzing with article after article of Shadaloo's rampant expansion as it devoured nearly all of Indochina. Images of row after row of Bison's mechanical soldiers-the same machines as Seth-steamrolled entire cities. He felt sick. It was all wrong. The loss of life did not concern him so much as it was the strangeness of the events. He'd been part of Shadaloo, and they had never been this powerful. The rest of the world watched as war broke out in southeast Asia, and talked bureaucracy as Shadaloo pressed on. Neighboring countries reinforced their borders, requesting the help of more powerful nations. But they all seemed hesitant to make a move.

He did his best not to think about it. He had enough to worry about. He spent a lot of time trying to map out all of the differences between real life and this one. If he could call his old life 'real'. This experience was beginning to make him question himself. Was he clinging to something that had never happened? Was he really so insane, as suggested by those pills he was supposed to be taking, that he'd been believing in a life he'd never actually lived? Or was there just some incomprehensible reason the entire world around him had changed, leaving him with memories of the way things _should _be? And was the way he knew things to be the _right _way? This life came with certain perks that his 'real' one hadn't, even if he wouldn't fully admit he appreciated some of them.

He started with the oldest difference he could think of. His father hadn't left them. So his mother never married the man that would've murdered her and ruined his life. He never found a reason to go into the underground fight scene, never met Bison, never became an assassin. Similarly, Chun-Li's father never died, so the woman never became engrossed in her quest to end Shadaloo. She never paired up with Guile, and never helped destroy Bison. He'd learned that Ryu was the only one to ever make it to Shadaloo and live to tell about it.

There was Cammy, too. He'd accidentally laid the foundations of self-awareness in her by informing her of her role as a clone of Bison. She began to question who she was. Her assignment to assassinate Dhalsim led to the complete erasure of the Doll programming, and Vega was supposed to kill her. He couldn't bring himself to do it, and she returned to Shadaloo to free the rest of the Dolls and destroy the psycho drive. Bison was significantly weakened by this act, and Shadaloo hadn't been as powerful since. But now that Vega hadn't met Cammy, she was still a Doll, she never freed the others, and Bison was apparently stronger than ever. That may have been a good thing for him if he were still a part of Shadaloo. But he wasn't, and Bison wanted him dead. He found it difficult to convince himself that he could survive the threat of death from an organization powerful enough to topple entire countries.

He wasn't one for laying down and dying though, and he'd deal with issues as they came to him. He weighed whether or not he was safer here than elsewhere. He knew Bison hunted down undesirables regardless of the extensive precautions they took. With Shadaloo stronger than ever, he supposed that fact would still hold true. If he stayed with Chun-Li it increased his chances of survival, even if it was marginal. She could still fight, though she wasn't as impressive as before. There was also the chance that her worried father-who had contacts with government agencies-could somehow provide extra protection to them. These factors made it obvious to him that there was no good reason to try to run. There was nowhere to go, anyway.

Having wasted a significant time with all of this, he remembered the entire reason he'd gotten on the computer to begin with. That 'teaching' thing. His other self had some things prepared, but not enough to explicitly tell him how to do the work. He was poring over files on the laptop, uninterested in anything they had to say. He had to teach a few different classes which covered drawing and painting. There were lesson plans, grading scales, lectures, supply lists, suggested readings... For every file he read, he could have sworn that three new ones were popping up in the folder like some boring textual hydra.

A little chime sound startled him, and he realized a browser was still open. The computer had been on when he woke up, and he vaguely remembered something had already been opened. He'd presumed Chun-Li must've been using it for something, and he had used a different window for delving into the news on the Dolls. The noise was unfamiliar, so he pulled up the page it had come from. He figured looking through her social media accounts was the smallest offense he would ever commit against her.

She'd received a notification. That had been the chiming noise. It was from a Chinese friend, commenting on a photo she'd also commented on, and he couldn't read any of it. He shrugged. Her feed was a mix of Chinese, English, French, and even a bit of Spanish. He squinted his eyes at the little photo beside one of the Spanish names. He thought the man in the picture looked familiar. Someone he'd been in school with when he was a teenager. He investigated further and sure enough, the page listed him as a former student at the same school. He was now a curator at a gallery in Madrid. Vega felt a little bit of jealousy. If he remembered right, the guy was not terribly talented.

But then his own name caught his attention. The page showed himself as being a mutual friend between Chun-Li and his old classmate. He was even more curious now. In his real life he didn't have one of these accounts so he couldn't help but click on it. He scrolled down. He didn't put much on here, the last thing being from a bit over a week ago. It said he had been identified in a photo by her. He had to trust the site that it was actually him in the picture, because his face was totally obscured by his hair as he leaned against the window of the train they were on. "Tired doesn't begin to describe it," she'd written. Seventeen people liked that, apparently, though he couldn't fathom why. He shook his head, ready to abandon the page when he noticed something.

'See friendship.' He had to click it. If he didn't, he'd have to go back to reading those awful, boring files. And maybe, just a little, he was interested in the idea of being able to figure out how he ended up with her. He was a little surprised to see, if this page was to be believed, that they'd been together for five years. That was much too long. He didn't make a habit of staying with the same woman for very long. He scrolled through photo after photo, updates she'd tagged him in, places they'd gone together. There they were at the Louvre. There were photos of them in the mountains, people admonishing him for dangling precariously from rocks in a few of the pictures, just as Eliza had mentioned. They were thanked for all of their help at a mutual friend's wedding. They were in London. Beijing. Tokyo. New York. Had there been anywhere they hadn't visited? He felt a bit despondent when he realized how happy he looked in all of those photos. Obviously most people smiled for pictures. He knew that meant nothing about how happy someone actually was. He'd faked enough himself-it was just part of the game, and it didn't necessarily bother him to play it. But that was how he knew these smiles with her _weren't _forced.

He kept scrolling. His breath caught in his throat as he started to see people writing how truly sorry they were for the loss of his mother. He bit his tongue as he read each word, thinking back to how it'd really happened and how terribly alone he'd been. How he'd avoided journalists looking for a juicy, emotional interview about the situation. How police treated him almost with impatience at how he'd been quiet and slow to answer questions, earning him a label of 'uncooperative'. How lawyers treated everything in a disturbingly clinical manner, more interested in figuring out where his step-father's money was going to end up and how they could get a piece of it. How even people in his school seemed wary of talking to him anymore because something like a student who'd killed someone, even if it'd been in self-defense, spread like wildfire and the story changed every time it traded hands. Here on this page were all the words he wished he could've heard back then. "I'm so sorry for your loss." "If you ever need anything, let us know!" "We're here for you." Was that so much for somebody to ask for?

He was jealous of all of it. Jealous of knowing his real father, having at least a decent life with his mother that didn't end in abuse and murder. Meeting someone who loved him for who he was and not for being famous or having money or for the bragging rights. Not living his life one adrenaline-fueled, death-defying moment to the next because anything less was not enough to satisfy him. All at once it seemed to hit him, and he wanted to give up on trying to get away, to just lay down and take this life as it was. Why should he fight against things that all added up to a happier life?

He looked at the page again. Saw a picture of them sitting together, her head resting on his shoulder. He hated her because she got back everything she'd lost, and he'd just treaded water. He hated her for being happy when it seemed like the same wasn't achievable for him, even if he constantly told himself he was fine. But in this reality, according to these pictures and words, he really _was _happy, so what reason was there to hate her now?

* * *

Action is coming, I promise!

response to kaptu: wow! thank you for such a long and detailed review! and are you peeking into my docs on here? lol ive written about something you mentioned here in this review for a future chapter. :) i figure that her friends know a bit about vega but have never met him, so he's sort of just 'that guy chun li is dating' until they get to know him more personally. his mother's death was natural in this version of events, and i thought it should still change him somehow, just not as significantly as snapping into a serial killer. and i'm glad people are finding ken obnoxious! i don't dislike him, but i kind imagine him as the sort of guy you initially think is obnoxious but then find yourself enjoying his company in spite of it because he is so infectiously friendly and good-natured. he's fun to write too. thank you again for such an involved review!


	7. Chapter 7

He was on a train, trying his best to not pay attention to the woman beside him who'd sat uncomfortably close. Public transportation disgusted him, and he couldn't believe he hadn't thought of taking a cab until it was too late. He wasn't used to having to weigh his choices like this. It was crowded, someone smelled horrible, there was a pair of headphones blaring somewhere behind him, some idiot was yelling into his phone, and this _god damned woman _was inching closer, he was sure of it. This was hell, and he swore he would never come back here again. He tapped his foot, frustration mounting. He was ready to murder someone, maybe this woman who couldn't figure out where her seat ended and his started, when finally his stop was announced. What he hoped was his stop. Surely it was close enough to the university by now.

The air outside was cold, the wind stinging every bit of exposed skin, and he hated that too. Ice and snow lined the sidewalks, making him pay extra attention to his footing. This place was horrible and he longed desperately for the warm beaches of Barcelona. He entertained the notion of abandoning everything to go back home, but ultimately knew he shouldn't. He kept telling himself he was safer if he stayed with Chun-Li, as backwards as that sounded, and pressed on. He wouldn't admit most of the reason for his poor mood was due to the digging around he did online the day before. He'd stuffed down all of the jealousy and other pathetic longing it'd filled him with and it came out now as relentless irritation directed at everything else.

He looked down at his phone, which showed a time of 11:30. The class he was supposed to be teaching had started fifteen minutes ago. Teaching. He almost groaned out loud. Why wasn't he just a famous artist already? Why wasn't his job hanging around at gallery openings and drinking wine and trying to out-do the most pretentious person he could find? This was a stupid decision, to teach, and he wondered if the pay was even worth it as he had no idea what a professor earned.

Houses lined the street to his right, brick storefronts and restaurants across the street to his left. Part of him thought it all looked fairly nice, but he still stubbornly hated it. The university itself made him feel a bit more at home, but not by much. A lot of Chicago seemed to be red brick and steel. This was slate grey stone, somewhat gothic architecture, and dead ivy vines crawling along almost every surface. Again, he could've called it pretty if it weren't the heart of the most miserable winter he'd ever had the displeasure of experiencing.

By the time he navigated the campus and found the class he was now in charge of, it was 11:45. He felt wrong being here. He never went to a university when he was younger, and didn't really know what was expected of him now. The class was small, maybe twenty or so students, and he wasn't sure if that was a good or bad. A smaller class might mean having to talk to each of them more. Was he really ready to do this? No, but what else was he supposed to do? Maybe he could try to find a more tolerable job, but there was no leaving this one until he had something solid.

He stood at the front of the studio for a minute, unsure of what to even say to all of these kids. The oldest looked maybe twenty-one, if that. He didn't know how to talk at length with teenagers. He'd exchanged pleasantries with younger fans, but this was a lot different. When someone was doting on you, very little was expected of you. So he just cut to the chase, and asked, "What do you usually do here?" A few of them exchanged glances. He sighed, unable to keep his irritation to himself. All of his patience had been wasted on that horrible train ride.

"Uh...learn stuff?" someone finally offered.

"Thank you for the revelation that you go to school to _learn stuff_, but I meant this class, specifically," he said, coming very close to throwing something at the student.

"It's the first day," someone else said in defense of the other idiot student. "You tell us."

He glanced back at the board behind him. Nothing was on it to give some kind of hint to him. Why would it be? He was supposed to know what was going on here. Finally he shrugged and waved his hand at them. "Draw something."

"What?" someone asked.

"Just draw anything, I don't care what."

"I don't have a pencil."

"All I have is notebook paper."

"I don't have _any _paper."

He was starting to wonder if he had the authority to expel people permanently from a class, but then that would mean no longer having a class to teach. "It's a drawing class, isn't it? How did you think you were going to draw anything without a paper or pencil?" he asked.

"Most classes don't make you do work on the first day."

"Yeah, are we even going to get a syllabus or supply list?"

He thought about that for a second and remembered that folder on the computer. He probably should've had that information with him, but it was too late now. "You'll get those tomorrow."

"We don't have this class tomorrow."

"The next time you come here, then," he said. Oh, it was so hard to not throw things at them. "But this _is _a drawing class, so chances are, you'll end up drawing things. As I said before, I want you to draw something. So I can see if you should actually be here or not."

"What if we don't have anything to draw with or on?"

He shrugged. "Figure something out." He heard an irritated sigh. Maybe he wasn't making the best impression, but they were expecting entirely too much. He let them draw for a while, and decided this wasn't _so _bad. If he just did this every time, maybe it wouldn't be difficult to make it through the semester. After twenty minutes, he told them to stop. He walked over to the nearest student, and took their paper. Immediately, his face contorted into a look of disgust. "What is this supposed to be?"

"It's...a person..." they said, face flushing red.

"Have you ever _seen _a person? Do your eyes work? I can tell you _his _clearly don't." He tapped the paper to emphasize the malformed organs before dropping it back on the table. He took the next paper, though the student seemed reluctant. "Are those supposed to be hands? You know that bones are rigid and fairly inflexible, correct?" The third student saved him the trouble and crumpled their paper up before he got the chance to take it. If it was that bad, at least the student had some kind of self-awareness. He took the fourth paper, the student already glaring at him. "I can't do this." He dropped the sheet, which held something like squiggles and lines randomly assigned to parts of the paper. Maybe if he'd squinted it could have conceivably been a tree or bush, but he wasn't that generous. "Are you all this terrible? Why are you in this class? How did you make it to a university?"

"I'm dropping this class, like, today," somebody said, getting up and leaving.

"Criticism is a part of art, you realize?" he said, somewhat amused with how sensitive they were being.

"There's a difference between criticism and just being mean," someone else mumbled.

"Yeah, you're supposed to teach us how to get better."

"There are some things even I can't fix," he said, spreading his hands. He looked at his phone and shrugged. It was close enough to the end of the class, and they plainly weren't meant for this anyway. "You can all go, I suppose."

"Gladly," he heard somebody else say. His next class went about the same way, and he felt much more drained than he ever had from his normal, more physically demanding jobs. He'd rather fight ten bulls in a row than teach another college class. He might end up less exhausted. The students from the first classes made complaints about him, and he managed to avoid a serious problem by citing the recent attempt on his life by the Shadaloo assassins. He claimed to be stressed to the point that he'd accidentally snapped at the students, and got off with a warning. Lying and making things up on the spot were some of his greatest strengths, and they were definitely useful.

Due to all of the complaints, he had to figure out how to teach the classes in a way that wouldn't get him in trouble and also not offend his own sensibilities. He tried to channel his usual public persona in an effort to avoid further trouble or being fired, but found it didn't feel right and could be difficult to muster after the hell of his commute. He was polite, thus ridding himself of any reason to upset anyone. But if he had to be polite all of the time, he was unsure how any of these people were going to improve their work. When he realized that he didn't really _care _if they did improve or not, everything seemed to fall into place. The assignment lists his other self had drafted up were a great help and gave him an idea of what he was supposed to be doing.

Thursday was his last day of teaching for the week, and that brought with it its own sense of relief. Even the fact that he still had to ride the train was not enough to dampen his mood, and that upset him in a way. He thought of office drones and other nine-to-five workers recycling the same old quips about being ready for the weekend. That wasn't him. He didn't have a schedule, a routine, a 'work week'. This completely average and mundane existence was starting to leave him feeling trapped, something that could only be fought against by something explosive, spontaneous, exciting. He thought of some of his usual exploits, but tried not to let his mind wander down that road. He didn't know this city well enough to find a place hosting vicious bar fights. Didn't know which places tended to be ignored in the darker hours of the night, or how best to navigate them without being noticed.

He forced himself to direct his thoughts back to his unusual situation and if it could ever be resolved. With Bison marked off of his very short list of people to ask for help, he was left with no one to go to. It felt silly in retrospect, but every time he took a shower he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to imagine himself in his own bathroom in an attempt to will himself back to reality. Perhaps it was a testament to his desperation. It hadn't worked, and he felt embarrassed every time he tried it.

As it'd been every time he'd gone outside, it was cold. A bit of cold sometimes was fine, but this was unreasonable. The snow and wind seemed to never stop. He didn't like the way it left his hair just a bit damp, or how dry his hands felt. He didn't like having to wear a coat and gloves and a scarf all of the time. He glanced over his shoulder as he walked, looking at all the people trudging through the campus, bundled under layers of clothes. A man a few meters behind him had his scarf pulled up over his nose, and Vega decided maybe that wasn't a bad idea.

He missed his place in Barcelona. He missed dangling his legs over the edge of the balcony. The warm breezes that carried the smell of the ocean. Being able to walk outside in just a pair of jeans and actually enjoy the feeling of the sun on his skin. Here he was lucky if he saw the sun at all, and he definitely wasn't going shirtless any time soon.

Waiting for the train could be agonizing. It was claimed that they ran every ten to fifteen minutes, but he didn't believe it. It wasn't just that he hated public transit and standing around with all of these awful people. It was also a waste of his time. He clenched his jaw, trying to keep his teeth from chattering. He shrugged his shoulders a few times, just for the sake of moving, and looked around at the others waiting here. One woman looked like she'd fallen asleep standing up, shoulders hunched, hands in her pockets. Two young men were engaged in a heated debate about somebody named Heisenberg. A guy had half his face hidden behind a scarf. A teenager was on her cell phone.

His eyes went back to the man with the scarf. Was that the same one from the university? The distinct squealing and rumbling of the train reached his ears, and everyone seemed to gravitate slowly towards the tracks. It couldn't be so unusual that he'd see someone on campus and at one of the nearest train stations. He tried not to worry over it too much. The man was further down the platform, and would end up on a different car anyway.

The train was crowded, but warm. He hated that any kind of perk came with getting onto it. He started to wonder if it would be so terrible to invest in a car. He looked at the people around him and decided that it was an amazing idea. Rather to face the busy streets than to sit in such close proximity to any of these people. His survey of the train ended abruptly when he saw the man with the scarf again. So maybe it was a little strange that he'd ended up here in the same car. He tried to keep from working himself up over this guy. But it was hard not to suspect things when he knew Bison wanted him dead. Maybe that had been the first free seat the man had come upon. Maybe he was being watched.

The next stop was announced, and he decided there was an easy way to find a definitive answer. He left the train, walked down a few cars, and boarded again. This time, he climbed the stairs to the upper deck. Without appearing obvious, he let his eyes rove over the other passengers. He felt an ironic smile tug at his lips as he saw the man again. He hadn't looked directly at him, didn't want to give away that he'd noticed he was being followed, though he supposed getting off the train may have already done that. For a moment it seemed as if everyone's attention was on him, as if they were all in on it too, waiting for one of them to make a move. He wasn't usually the one being followed, and it was an uncomfortable position to be in, but he was certain he could handle this. Did Shadaloo have people who were as skilled in combat as he was? Sagat, he hated to admit, could crush him like a bug, and Balrog was no pushover. But that's not who he was up against. He didn't recognize the man, but he didn't exactly know the face of everyone in the organization. He tried to visualize the stop he'd be getting off on, planned the quickest route through it. It should be busy, full of people, which could be a problem or a blessing. They could get in his way, but he was also less likely to be outright killed in front of them. What about the route home? He tried to think. Alleys would need to be avoided, even walking by them was a risk. Was going to the apartment a wise decision? It probably didn't matter. If the man knew where he was working, he'd probably know where he lived. His stop was called, and he inhaled a long, measured breath as he stood up. The doors opened.

He vaulted over the railing, landing in the aisle below. He'd almost dropped on top of a guy getting out of his seat. He heard someone yell at him, but he was already bolting out of the train and out onto the grey pavement of the narrow platform. He pushed open the door to the concourse. He glanced over his shoulder to see the man chasing him down. At least now he knew he didn't look like an idiot for running through a train station for no obvious reason. He planted a foot in the high back of one of the wooden benches, launched himself over it.

It was crowded enough in the concourse. Indignant cries and even a few curses followed as he pushed his way through, not slowing down for anything. He burst through another set of doors, nearly knocking out an angry woman on the other side. He took the stairs two at a time, almost slipping more than once on their slick surface. The wind hit him as he emerged at street level again. He couldn't take a moment to figure out where to run, and just kept going. He cut into the street, horns blaring, and one car would've taken his legs out if he hadn't reacted quickly and jumped up, sliding across the hood of the vehicle. He made it across six lanes of rush hour traffic without dying, and that felt like an accomplishment in itself. The man matched him, never seeming to hesitate or slow down, snaking through the vehicles.

He dashed through a park covered in snow. He pushed himself to move faster. Another four lanes of traffic to cross, horns blaring and people shouting. Another round of the same noises told him his pursuer wasn't far behind. He breezed past the stately facade of an art museum, nearly colliding with someone. He briefly thought of hiding out in the building, but realized it wouldn't do him any good. He'd have to come out sometime.

The cold air left his throat raw with every breath. He wondered about the guy's stamina and which one of them would tire out first. Another small park buried in snow and ice flew by on his right, leaving him at yet another intersection and he would've groaned if he had the breath to spare. That car coming in from the left wasn't going stop in time, he realized, and he let out a desperate and frustrated cry as he pushed off the slick asphalt. His foot made contact with the bumper of the vehicle without slipping as he heard their breaks squeal, and he pushed off again, narrowly missing being turned into roadkill. The momentum was almost too much when his feet hit the ground, he stumbled for a second, but ultimately managed regain balance. He heard the driver shout, something slam against a vehicle, and he glanced back over his shoulder. The man chasing him had run right into the stopped car, not giving himself enough time to stop when it did.

He didn't let that disarm him. He kept running. Pedestrian traffic seemed to be picking up a bit, and he cut through the park, away from the street and sidewalk. He flew up a short flight of stairs, glancing back to find that he was still being chased. But the snafu at the last intersection gave him a bigger lead now, and he'd take it. Angry calls followed after him as he weaved through a small crowd, and weren't people just terribly presumptuous? They had no idea he was running from someone who was probably going to kill him, but it didn't stop them from calling him an asshole. Throngs of people moved over the wide and open paved area at the top of the stairs, and he headed towards them. A meager amount of pale sunlight glinted off the chrome-like surface of a large sculpture, something reminiscent of a drop of liquid mercury. He kept moving towards it, hoping to get lost among the people gathered around it. Some tour group, maybe, or perhaps a school outing. Catching his breath, he disappeared into the crowd milling around beneath the sculpture. He looked just between the shoulders of a pair of people trying to find their reflection overhead, and spotted the man with the scarf slowing to a walk. He was cautiously approaching the crowd, searching for his lost target. People moved, and Vega tried to move with them, always keeping someone between himself and the man. He tried to breathe evenly, not wanting to attract any attention.

The man walked slowly towards his position. He hadn't been spotted yet, he was sure, given the way the man's eyes moved slowly over the numerous faces. But if he didn't find a way to move off from the crowd, he'd be a sitting duck when they inevitably moved on to the next attraction. He crouched low. He wasn't the only one, with many people posing in all sorts of ridiculous ways in an effort to create an amusing photo with their reflection. He put one hand to the cold surface for support, trying to keep his eyes on the man. His heart stopped when he caught sight of his reflection. It didn't move with him. He drew his brows together, his reflection's eyes went wide. He pulled his hand back as if he'd been burned and the reflection touched the glass instead of mirroring him.

"Hey, are you all right, buddy?"

He breathed again, turning bewildered eyes towards the man who'd spoken. The idiot was going to get him killed. He glanced back at his reflection, and it was normal again. He had to get out of here. Without answering the stranger, he took off back towards the city, jumping over a short fence to return to street level. He wasn't expecting to land on an ice rink, and fell right onto his back. Someone shrieked, and something collided with his ribs. A heavy weight dropped onto him. He groaned as the air rushed out of his lungs. The woman who'd tripped over him was helped up by a man, and she cried, "What's wrong with you?!"

He tried to push himself back up to his feet, and found it exceedingly difficult to do so on the ice. "You can't just jump down here and knock people over," her partner said.

He ignored them, focusing more on standing upright. Walking was an excruciating trial, and he forced his way to the edge of the rink, finally finding solid ground again. Another look over his shoulder told him he hadn't been followed. He stopped to get his bearings, trying to remember which way was home from here, and to shake the image he'd seen in the side of the Cloud Gate sculpture out of his mind. He wasn't insane, he couldn't be hallucinating things. He walked towards the nearest intersection, looking for a street name. He'd just been stressed. Someone was chasing him down, probably to kill him, and mistaking a reflection should have been the least of his worries. He crossed the street, this time when the traffic was actually stopped. Things were easier that way. He stiffened when he felt something hard and sharp pressing against his back.

* * *

_response to kaptu-thanks for the review, hope finals went/go well!(goes for everyone else who may be reading, too!) the sleep-talk was actually supposed to be this-reality-vega poking back in. sorry for the confusion D: and i kind of agree with your interpretation of cammy. i think the main thing to get with her is the 'not quite grown up' part, and serious about her work, certainly. i thought vega could be somewhat mystified and intrigued at the concept of a facebook-a bit of distaste towards the frivolity of it all(he's too pretentious) but it's also basically a socially acceptable form of narcissism so it's right up his alley ah ;P and i hadn't even thought about it the way you put it, creeping on himself hahaha! thanks again for the review, and do you mind if i ask, do you have an account here? no worries if you'd rather not share!_


	8. Chapter 8

"Don't speak. Don't make a sound. Keep moving." He did so, trying to dissect the voice. It sounded Eastern European, but it was difficult to distinguish much more than that. His heart beat a little faster as he went over his options. Did he call the man's bluff and run? Would he really try to kill him out here on this busy sidewalk? Could he take the risk?

"Here," the man said. He tugged slightly on Vega's coat, indicating the alley to their left. Vega turned with him, and no one seemed to take any notice. He tried to keep track of where the man was leading him. At one point, they entered a building from the alley, and descended a flight of stairs. He was familiar with this sort of set up. Shadaloo had secret places in a number of major cities around the world. Little empty rooms in buildings to serve as a place for operatives to gather, or a private place for more sinister acts. Which meant this man hadn't come here just to kill him. He wanted something first.

One other man was already in the room. It was small, windowless, and there was only one way in or out. The sound of the door closing drove home the danger he was in. He tried to cut to the chase, and slammed a fist into the side of the taller man's head. The guy certainly hadn't been expecting it, head rocking back from the blow. Shaking his head once, he grabbed Vega and twisted his arms painfully behind his back. Vega was ready to put up a fight when the first man spoke. "Live wire here," he said. "Don't worry, it'll be over soon. The faster you talk, the more painless your death."

"I'm a _c__ommander, _and I certainly don't take orders from pathetic little vermin such as yourself."

"Commander," the man repeated. Then he snorted, apparently amused by the declaration. "Cute. So am I, but I've never seen you before. Because of you and your peculiar knowledge of how to speak to my Dolls, I had to come all the way out here myself to deal with you."

Vega maintained an outwardly passive appearance, but the statement left him confused. He studied as much of the man's face as was left bared, but there wasn't much he could tell from a pair of brown eyes, the bridge of a nose, and strands of dark hair peaking from beneath the ends of a hat. "Your Dolls?" he repeated. There was no point in playing dumb here. If he did, they'd just try to kill him a bit faster. But if they thought he knew something, maybe he could figure a few things out himself.

"They are my responsibility," the man said. He seized Vega by the collar of his shirt, and he felt his lip curl up at the contact. "And I don't much appreciate that you took it upon yourself to order them around." The air rushed out of him when the man's fist sank into his stomach. "So tell me, Professor Navarro, how does an unassuming nobody like you know anything about Doll programming?"

Vega glared at the man, but kept quiet as he absorbed the information. This man had replaced him. If he hadn't ever joined Shadaloo, then naturally someone else had taken over the role of training and working with the Dolls. He took that assumption and ran with it. "I know you're incompetent. Satsuki's blade work was sloppy, and Santamu can move quicker than she was." Another blow to the stomach, closer to the edge of his ribcage this time, and he let his eyes close briefly but refused to give them any more of a pained expression than that.

"Cute, really cute," the man said. "I'd say you can critique me later, but corpses tend to be quiet." Vega was once again taken by the collar of his coat. "How do you know so much about Shadaloo?"

He ignored the question, trying to catch another glimpse of the man holding his arms behind his back. It was time to gauge his chances of taking them both out, though he couldn't know what kind of skill set either of them had. Commanders were-usually-Bison's best. "Who are you?" he asked, trying to look over his shoulder at the taller man.

"You're not asking questions here," the taller man said, but left the interrogations up to his partner. Lesser rank then. He didn't see any other weapons in the room, nor a place for keeping them. These meeting rooms were usually kept pretty bare for safety measures. In the event someone found one, a cache of weapons would be a pretty alarming discovery. There was the knife the commander had. As for the other man, it was a bit of a gamble, but Vega supposed it was one he obviously had to take.

"You have another minute before we start breaking bones. One at a time," the commander said, dark eyes burning with impatience.

He weighed his options before responding. Did he appeal to the man as a member of Shadaloo himself? Would they believe him? Or would it just anger them? They could suspect some kind of information leak, and they'd be demanding names from him. How much could he get out of them before they decided he wasn't going to give up anything useful? "I have nothing to tell you," Vega said.

"Come on, you don't want to go down that road," the alleged commander said, taking him by the throat. Vega clenched his jaw, felt the kindling of a very deadly fire in his chest. The man was going to regret touching him. "I won't say I _don't _like to torture people. That'd be dishonest, and I don't like dishonest people. So you tell me what you know and we'll make sure you leave a pretty corpse for the funeral."

"The only one I'm willing to speak to is Bison."

The two men exchanged incredulous glances before bursting out laughing.

"Fine," Vega said. He took a breath and jumped, putting all of his weight into the taller man. His legs came up in a flash, soles of his feet slamming into the chest of the man in front of him. He threw his head back, wincing slightly as it connected with the face of the man behind him. He felt the grip on his arms loosen just enough for him to break free. Another kick, this one to the side of the commander's head. He was grabbed by his hair, pulled away roughly, and thrown head-first into the wall. He blinked rapidly, refusing to lose focus in spite of the pain. He straightened himself and managed to avoid the fist thrown at him by the taller man. Vega struck out with a blow of his own, missed, jumped back. He lunged at the other man, tackling him to the ground. He punched once, twice, crack went the nose. The guy let out a brief scream, and suddenly Vega was seized from behind. The commander had wrapped an arm around his neck, and pulled him to his feet.

He couldn't afford to slow down. He elbowed the commander in the gut, spun around and took him by the sides of his head. He brought up a knee, pulled the man's face down to meet it. He felt his knee connect with the jaw, heard teeth crash together with an audible 'clack'. A sharp, burning pain erupted along his ribs and for once, he was grateful for the layers of heavy winter clothing. He hadn't been stabbed so he had that going for him. It'd been made clear to him that the threat of that blade had to be nullified.

Vega backed away. On his left was the commander, tense and ready to strike. On his right, the taller man drew his hand away from his broken, bleeding nose, and he didn't look very pleased. He dashed towards the commander, dropping low just as the man drew back his arm to strike. The knife was driven just to where his chest had been before he ducked. He swept out one leg, catching the commander around his ankles. The man fell back, threw out a hand to catch himself, and Vega was already in the air again, dropping a knee into the man's sternum. The knife was his now, and that gave him all the advantage he needed. He was ready to tear this man's face open when he was grabbed by the wrist and yanked up to his feet. He was pulled roughly back towards the taller man. Pain flared along his jaw, his head snapping to the side from the blow that'd just been delivered, and he stumbled back. He didn't like being struck in the face.

Teeth grinding, he waited, waited, there! The opening came when the man tried to strike again, throwing out a fist, missing Vega's chin by a hairs-breadth. He struck as quick as a snake, the knife not at all sharp enough to glide over the man's exposed neck in a thin clean line. Instead, it tore and ripped its way under his jaw, and Vega could feel it as the jugular gave way to the blade, a thrumming sensation rattling through his hand. The blood felt hot as it spilled over his cold fingers and the man's scream quickly turned to awful, gurgling noises. Vega couldn't help but laugh. It always amused him, these reversals of power. What confidence this man had just moments before. Now he gasped helplessly like a fish out of water, eyes wide with shock as it dawned on him he wasn't making it out of here alive. He kicked the man in the face as a bit of extra payback before leaving him to die on the floor.

He tightened his grip on the knife. The commander glanced from the thrashing, desperate body of his cohort on the ground, up to his apparently deadly opponent. Vega waited, mirroring the man's every cautious step. Once forward, once back, twice to the left. There, movement! Vega stepped away as the man rushed at him. A fist met Vega's side, he flinched, but spun, stabbing with the knife. The man grunted as it made contact, a quick puncture in his back, and they came away to face each other again. "Come on," Vega said, as if to a dog, and he lazily beckoned the man with his bloodied hand. "It's cold outside, and I want to get home."

The commander drew his brows together, studying Vega for a moment before striking again. He dashed forward, threw a punch. It met Vega's forearm, and with a swift movement, he took hold and twisted the commander's arm around behind him. Vega struggled to keep a hold on the man and found it more difficult than he expected. They moved backwards, the commander forcing his way towards the nearest wall. Vega felt his back hit a hard surface, and he twisted the man's arm harder, trying to gain control of the situation. The commander did his best to catch Vega's other arm, to get the knife back. The man's hand made it to his wrist, Vega struggled to free himself and keep a hold on him at the same time. The other man's elbow came up, and the wound in Vega's side exploded with pain. Those few seconds left him vulnerable again, and he winced when he felt the man direct the knife over his thigh. They separated again, and Vega tried to catch his breath. He saw blood on his leg, just above the knee.

He was forced into action again, nearly tripping as the man attempted to kick his legs out from beneath him. He jumped, brought one of his own legs up, felt his tibia connect with the side of the man's skull. The commander steadied himself with a palm against the ground, but Vega wasn't going to let him get back up. He dropped down onto the man's stomach, took hold of him by the chin. The man thrashed underneath him, and Vega gritted his teeth when he felt the man's knee dig into his wounded side. He pressed the bloodied knife to his throat. "Enjoy it, you piece of shit," the man spat, even as he fought still to get free.

Vega smiled like he'd just been invited to a party, not like he was about to end a life. "I already am." Just as he had with the first man, he left this one to drown in his own blood, watching patiently as the commander died. There was something undeniably fascinating about watching someone in their last moments. Some people cried, some begged, some laughed. Some were angry, like this one had been. Bitter that they'd lost. He briefly wondered which reaction he'd give when the time came but the thought too disturbing to face. Killing others was no issue. The thought of his own death, however, was terrifying.

He dropped the knife. He put his gloves back over his bloodied hands, terribly uncomfortable with how it felt. He tried to look over himself for obvious bloodstains as best as he could. He sighed angrily as he shrugged off just enough of the coat to catch a glimpse at his side. He was still bleeding, and now ugly purple bruises were forming along his ribcage where he'd been struck over and over. Blood had soaked through the shirt, but his coat would suffice in hiding it. He pulled it back on, now turning his attention to his leg. He winced when he ran his fingers over it. There was too much blood there to see how deep the wound was, and he pressed his hand against it. He had to get back to the apartment and deal with this.

Pushing the door open slowly, he glanced out into the corridor. It was empty. He didn't know how long it'd be before someone found these bodies. The commander had been a bit of a challenge, his companion less so. He wondered why Bison had ordered them after him instead of more Dolls. If it hadn't been for his knowledge of their programming, Satsuki would've killed him. Whatever the Dolls had reported back about him must have given Bison good reason to not send anymore. Once again, he found himself regretting ever trying to find help in Shadaloo. He just assumed that Bison would be able to help him, but too much had changed.

He tried not to favor his leg when he made it back to the street. Each step sent another round of pain flaring over his leg. He didn't want an unnecessary trip to any hospitals, didn't want to be questioned about how he'd been hurt. It hadn't been the first time in his life was injured like this, and it was probably far from the last given the rate he was going now. He hadn't been stabbed, a blessing not just for the fact that such wounds were more likely to be fatal, but also because he stood a better chance treating the injuries himself. He worried briefly over blood loss, and forced himself to walk a little faster.

Those two had been the first people he'd killed here, he realized. The fight with those men had been the sort of jolt he needed to the more average and plain life he was leading here. He wouldn't call it an addiction as that would be akin to admitting some kind of problem. And he didn't have problems. But he did crave more excitement than what this life was giving him. He wanted the thrill of a fierce and bloody fight, the rush of adrenaline that came with a kill, the feeling of satisfaction at having accomplished such a morbid goal. He let his mind dwell on the distinctive feeling that had run through his hand when he sawed through the jugular of one of his assailants. How warm that blood had felt on his cold hands.

He tried to keep his breathing even, but reflecting on what had happened was making his heart beat a little faster. He'd faced a threat of death and come out the victor. That always left him with a sort of high he couldn't really compare to anything else. It was satisfying. It was fulfilling. How, he now wondered, had he gone so long without it?

He let himself into the apartment. He called out for Chun-Li and was only answered by the patter of feline paws. He kept a hand pressed to his leg as he limped to the bathroom. He removed his shirt, the sight of the blood both incriminating and rewarding, like some kind of illicit trophy. His own stained the side where he'd been knifed, the cuffs stained with theirs as he'd killed them. He bit his tongue against the pain in his leg as he pulled off his pants. He left the ruined clothes in a pile on the floor. The cut along his ribs was not all that deep and had since stopped bleeding. The one in his leg was a different matter, and he squeezed his eyes shut as he applied pressure to it. A few minutes of stinging pain and quite a few blood-soaked cloths later, he was done. He looked over the shower, ensuring he hadn't missed any blood. Taking all evidence of his altercation-the bloodied clothes, medical supplies-he stuffed them all in their own garbage bag before burying them in the trash. Surely she didn't go picking through the waste in her spare time.

Just as he finished putting on a clean change of clothes, he heard the door and looked up. A threat? A challenge? His heart raced at the prospect. He felt weak and strong all at once. He knew he was injured, at a disadvantage, but he knew he'd survived as well, and he'd do it again whenever necessary.

But no, it was just her, and he felt ridiculous for becoming so tense. He was still working on a higher speed, ready for another fight, another kill, another rush of adrenaline. He watched her for a moment, heard her greet him as she approached to set her things on the counter, and he realized what he wanted. Not a fight, but a kind of reward. He often found himself in a state or arousal after finishing a hit, one high needing to be chased by another. This time was no different.

She was just about to say something, and he stopped her, taking her face in his hands and pressing his lips to hers. It felt like there wasn't enough time for everything he wanted to do, his thoughts racing, heart pounding, and was he just a bit dizzy suddenly? His hands dropped to her hips and he pressed against her. Her backside met the edge of the counter and she made a startled noise. Her pants came down around her ankles, and she made another noise, trying to break away from him and catch her breath. He wasn't picking up on that, and she tried to say his name.

"Stop," he muttered against her mouth, undoing his own pants. He felt rushed, like everything had to be done all at once, right _now _and he couldn't even be bothered to take his jeans off.

"You're really in a-" She interrupted herself with a startled cry when his hands gripped the back of her thighs and her feet left the floor. She yelped again at a sudden movement from him, arching her back and squirming. "Andres-" She was stopped by another quick thrust from his hips and her eyes closed briefly. His fingers dug into her thigh, holding her leg up, and his other hand was in her hair as he kissed her with a sort of fervent desperation she'd never really seen from him before. She couldn't say she wasn't enjoying it, but she hadn't known him to be so aggressive. She tried to undo the buttons on his shirt and one of his hands came up to stop her. "Why-"

She felt his breath on her neck as he sighed angrily, and her eyes flew open as his fingers dug painfully into her thighs. "Stop talking," he said. She stared back at him for a moment, paralyzed by the furious tone, unheard of coming from him.

"Let go of me, now," she demanded. She squirmed between him and the edge of the counter.

He made an awful agitated noise before pressing his lips to her ear. "You have to stop fucking talking," he demanded again. There was a sharp, stinging pain as he moved too quickly and deeply for her to stand it. Why hadn't he stopped? Didn't he hear her? Why was he talking to her that way, with such ferocity in his voice? Fear and anger competed for dominance in her, but either way, she had to end this. "Andres, get off of me!" she shouted. She couldn't take it anymore. He finished just as she shoved him away from her, the evidence of that spilling out onto the floor. They stood opposite each other for an intense moment. She could feel something running down her leg, and he was leaning back against the other counter, hands clutching the edge, staring at her with a sort of anger she'd never seen in his eyes before. He was like another person and she was afraid of what she saw in him now.

"What is wrong with you?" she asked, part of her worried for how he might react. She wanted an explanation all the same, whether it set him off or not. Never had he been so forceful, and she hated to toss the word 'vicious' around, but there wasn't a better way to describe the way he'd spoken to her, how he'd ignored her when she asked him to stop. She knew him to be a fairly sweet person, and he'd never been anything approaching cruel to her. She looked at him, heart still racing as she waited for a response. Would he get angry? Would he apologize? It felt dangerous to even be in the same room with him, given that look on his face. It was something she thought she'd never say of him.

"You don't-" he started to say as the intensity of his orgasm faded away. He brushed his hair back out of his face, suddenly light-headed, and the rage of being so forcefully rejected quickly becoming replaced by a sort of embarrassment as he realized what it was he'd done. He didn't hurt the women he slept with. Beautiful women were meant to be respected, not hurt or abused. Why, then, had he suddenly violated his own principles now? He couldn't bring himself to apologize to her, but he couldn't justify his actions either.

"If I tell you to stop, I mean it," she said in a raised voice. At least his eyes had lost that horrible, enraged look. She saw his jaw clench, his nostrils flare, but he wouldn't look at her anymore. Maybe he realized he'd wronged her. Maybe it'd been some brief issue that he was over now. She hoped that was it, and the prospect of something like it happening again-or something worse-began to worm its way into her mind. She glanced down at her legs, and sighed as she picked her pants up from the ground. "What were you thinking?"

He still couldn't look her in the eye, and that just made him angrier. He was thinking he didn't care if he was hurting her or not, it felt good and intense and was just what he needed after what he'd done that day. He couldn't answer why he'd gotten so rough with her. He wasn't going to really hurt her or anything. Was he? No, he just had to show her how badly he needed her to stop talking. Her voice was too disruptive to him because it belonged to her.

Again, he thought of his step-father, a clear example of everything he didn't want to be, and his mind drew out the comparisons he didn't want to face. "I don't know," he said finally, voice devoid of any hint of an emotion. He thought he was better than this. That he wouldn't sink so low as to take a woman by force like that man did. At the time, with his hormones raging and adrenaline still rushing, it made perfect sense to be so rough. She wouldn't listen, wouldn't stop saying his name, questioning him, he'd felt so rushed and irritated.

"Look," she said, "I don't-" She pressed her lips together. She didn't want him to think she hated him for this, but she certainly wasn't happy about it. "You seemed so different. You really scared me. What was that?"

"Nothing," he said. He still wouldn't apologize. Admissions of guilt meant someone was at fault, and someone who was supposed to be perfect couldn't have faults.

"Well, it was something to me. Something really frightening." She approached him, and he tensed. A burning hatred welled up in him suddenly. He didn't want her near him anymore. But she looked up at him, her eyes softening a bit. This was too much. What did it take to get her to hate him? "Please, tell me you won't ever do something like that again," she asked.

"I won't," he said mechanically. He was done, he wasn't going to touch her again. It wasn't worth it. The last time he'd let himself give in to that temptation had ended in a similar fashion, leaving him questioning whether or not he was all that different from the man he hated so much. He flinched when he felt her brush his cheek with the back of her fingers. He reached up to pull her fingers away from his face. "Don't do that," he said. Part of him expected her to ignore him, to get him back, to laugh in his face while she taunted him. She did no such thing, returning her hand back to where it'd been before. It only made him feel worse, that she'd complied, that she respected his requests.

"I'm going to go take a shower," she said finally. It was plain he wasn't going to talk to her about it, and she didn't have the patience now to pry it out of him. But she didn't like leaving problems unsolved, and this was a big one. She'd give him a few hours to himself before trying to talk to him again, and she hated that she still felt a little afraid of him. "Are you sure you're okay?"

He nodded. She turned away, and he watched her as she disappeared from view. He sighed, completely unsatisfied with what he'd done. His actions, his words, his thoughts, everything at this moment was grating against him. He knew he'd go back to what was more or less normal to him again, completely convinced of his status as something better than average, someone highly important, talented, attractive, perfect. But for now, it was torture to feel so hollow, to burn with so much hatred for everything, himself included.

Running his fingers through his hair, he turned back towards the couch. He still felt dizzy and light-headed, and didn't want to think about what that might mean regarding how much blood he'd lost. Maybe he couldn't say he was sorry to her. Could he say he wished he hadn't done it? In reality, he didn't care about hurting her one way or the other. He'd been ordered to kill her, and nearly succeeded in doing so. But that was different for him. Not only was that woman so unlike this one, who treated him so sweetly and lovingly, he drew a clear line between murder and sexual violence. The people he killed, they deserved it. He knew he was justified. But no one had the right to take advantage of beautiful things. He didn't want to be anything like his step-father, so when he thought of this line, and how he'd just toed it, he had to keep asking himself-Wasn't that man a killer too?


	9. Chapter 9

Why did it have to be her? Any woman he didn't have some turbulent history with and he might have been able to pull this off. But no, out of the seven billion people on the planet, he ended up with _her. _A sickening coincidence. He insisted it was a coincidence, at least, because it otherwise implied he was meant to be in her life, for better or worse. Whether it meant being at each other's throats or in each other's beds. Sometimes he felt a neutral sort of resignation. So what if she didn't know every gritty detail of who he was? Did anyone truly divulge everything they were to another person? He could accept her affection, he could deal with being doted on by someone so beautiful. Then those thoughts suddenly disgusted him. This was not the kind of life he was meant for, so bland and boring. He was meant to be important, meant to be _known. _And he certainly was not meant for _her. _To submit to this world and all its mediocrity meant to erase everything he'd worked so hard to achieve. Was he really willing to do that in return for the occasional comforting word, a loving touch here and there?

She kept asking him about how he felt. Sometimes direct queries and sometimes other methods she must've thought were subtler but really weren't. He kept composure, tried to think of it as a challenge to himself to be as neutral as possible. But it was so hard to carry on with. She left him completely confused, anguishing over whether or not this was an improvement on his life or not. He clung still so tightly to his hatred of her, this last link to his real life. It didn't make anything easier, though. He'd slipped up badly the day before, and she wasn't going to let it go without talking it out. Because that's what normal, healthy people did in their relationships.

He'd never really had one of those. Once his whole life had imploded before he even made it to adulthood, he'd decided that marriage was a waste of time. Being alone was fine, and more often than not, he'd find something insufferable about another person, anyway. And there was a lot he found insufferable about her. He tried to keep that in mind. It was something easier to remember after a day's worth of plane flights with her. A day of traveling to go spend more time with her friends, people who also should've hated him but now, at the very least, tolerated him.

He definitely didn't want to be here. His encounter with the pair of men he'd killed told him that he couldn't adjust to such a normal life. All of this 'averageness' was driving him mad, and that taste of excitement only served to make its absence felt more sharply. It was also a reminder that, chances were, threat after threat would be sent his way. How long could he live like that? Paranoid, anxious, scared? He knew what he was capable of, that he wasn't going to die without a spectacular fight. But he also knew of Bison's resources, his tenacity, and the fact that Shadaloo was much more powerful in this world made his chances of survival slim. He could take on Dolls, he could take on interrogators and kidnappers. But a bomb? A virus? How could he protect himself against things like that?

Such thoughts had dominated most of his day, if not all of it. The plane, he'd convinced himself, could have a bomb on it, or maybe the pilot had been replaced by a Shadaloo plant to drive it into the ground. That made Chun-Li's attempts at talking to him about his _feelings _so much more annoying. Yes, he wanted to have a good cry on her shoulder when they could be consumed in a ball of thousand degree flaming jet fuel at any moment.

Obviously that hadn't happened. He'd been so frightened and sure that he would die on that plane, stepping on solid ground had been like breathing fresh air again. She'd noticed his anxiety and, of course, interpreted it as something personal. He wanted to take her by the shoulders and shake her until she went back to her old self. Until he saw some kind of determination and fire back in her eyes, until she declared she didn't give a damn about his feelings, until she was chasing him down again across the rooftops of a city with a pair of handcuffs waiting for him.

The next obstacle had been the hotel room. The place was obviously not cheap, being in the middle of downtown, but he remembered Ken was not exactly hurting for money either. He couldn't remember what it was the man did for a living-if anything-but it didn't really interested him. In spite of his own personal wealth, he cared little for money and rank, having witnessed men with both abuse them too often for his liking. Money and power were an ugly combination, and they made people do ugly things.

At first, he thought to check the place over thoroughly. Even if the rooms had been reserved by Ken, he couldn't be sure what the hotel's register would say. The best way to fix the problem was to request a new room. He made up a complaint about the place smelling bad. Chun-Li insisted that it didn't, but seemed too tired to argue about it. A room was a room, after all. They were in a different one maybe ten minutes after they'd arrived, and he thought that could buy him some time. If the place was wired to blow, at least, he wouldn't be in it when it happened. But if there was someone here with the intention of killing him by hand, it was just a setback, not a solution. He was delighted to find he woke up the next morning still very much alive. He'd survived a day of possible-whether real or imagined-murder attempts and emotional interrogation. A first for him. He supposed she had the sense to not want to air their dirty laundry in public, and after all the traveling she'd been too tired to push the issue. Today would hopefully provide little opportunity for her to bother him.

There were more of her friends around this time. He was almost surprised to see Ryu in such a setting, though the man _still _wore a gi in spite of the weather. There was a teenager with him whom he'd first assumed was a younger sister. Her name was Sakura, and he found her sort of cute. Her enthusiasm was refreshing, if a bit much at times, but he figured she would mellow out with age and eventually blossom into a pretty woman someday.

Ken was a bit eager to show them the reception hall they'd rented, and asked everyone to meet him there so they 'knew where it was'. The place was just a large, empty room in a brick building, set on a small beach. It was still a far cry from Barcelona, and he despaired at the thought of how long it'd been since he'd been home. How long it might be before he ever saw it again.

It was Sakura who, after playing with her echo for a moment, declared, "This place would be great to spar in." He tried not to roll his eyes. Did these people think of anything besides martial arts?

"Not quite big enough for many spectators," Chun-Li put in.

"That's okay, we can call it a private match," Sakura said, and she took a stance in front of Ken. "Come on, pre-wedding challenge!"

Ken laughed and shook his head. "Nah, sorry, I think Eliza would kill me if I got scuffed up with all the pictures we'll be taking later."

"That's a bit of an advanced match-up for you, anyway, Sakura," Ryu added. She was good, but a bit too eager sometimes, and he wasn't so sure how great Ken was at pulling punches. Ken hadn't taught as much as Ryu had, if at all, and he worried over what kind of accidents might happen if he tried to give Sakura a decent challenge.

"Fine, Sakura, you can fight Andres, how about that?" Ken said with a lopsided grin.

Vega narrowed his eyes at that. "Don't take it personally, _florecita. _He's afraid of you."

"I know it!" she said. But curious as ever, she asked, "Do you have any martial arts experience?"

He raised his eyebrows, caught in a tough spot. He didn't want to come off as weak, but saying yes might require proof, given the way these people loved a good fight. He recalled telling Guile that he hadn't been in a fight before engaging Satsuki. But then someone spoke for him. "He must be pretty decent," he heard Dorai say. "You held your own against those Dolls, and that's no easy feat."

Vega shrugged, trying to remain nonchalant. "Maybe it was dumb luck."

"Well, come on then, my scrawny artist friend," Ken said, grinning. "Let's see."

"Oh, come on," Chun-Li sighed, rolling her eyes. "He's not _scrawny, _you meathead. Don't pick on him like that."

"It's fine," Vega said. He didn't need her to defend him. He was perfectly capable of that himself, and he wasn't going to pass up an opportunity to beat Ken Master's face in. Especially if it ended up recorded forever in his wedding photos.

"I'm a bit curious myself," Dorai put in, holding a hand up at Ken before turning his eyes to Vega. "Do you mind?"

That was a little different. He'd never met the man before, had no idea how capable he was. He had to be in his fifties and it seemed like cheating to beat on an old man in a fight. But then, he didn't particularly care for the slight and subtle suspicion Dorai seemed to often treat him with. So he shrugged, figuring at the very least he could take it easier on him than he would a regular opponent. Just for the sake of appearances. He nodded, shrugging off the jacket.

"Ohh, gettin' serious," Ken said, crossing his arms.

"Not that serious," Chun-Li said, a bit embarrassed. She was a little frustrated with her dad for initiating this, and a bit frustrated with Andres for going along with it. They were going to end up hurting each other, she knew it.

"Okay, I want a good, clean, fight. An awesome one would be good too," Ken said. "And...go!" Ken clapped, expecting the two men to explode into action. Neither did so, glancing over at Ken with different expressions that both meant the same thing-_my God, what a mouth on this one._

"Just say the word, and I'll stop, all right?" Dorai offered amicably. Vega would've laughed. It wasn't likely the man was going to come away from this uninjured, but he'd do his best to avoid causing too much of a problem.

"_Y tú, también." _He was a little unsure of where to start, neither of them rushing the other.

Dorai must've felt a degree of uncertainty, too. So Vega kicked high, aiming for the side of the man's head, but he didn't do it nearly fast enough to warrant any kind of concern over an injury. Dorai blocked it easily. "Nice form," he said. adding mentally, _for someone who doesn't know anything about martial arts, especially._

"Come on, let's see those lightning legs, old man," Ken jeered.

Dorai smiled self-consciously but didn't give in to the request yet. Vega watched him carefully, noting the similarities between his forms and Chun-Li's. The fluid motions that seemed to ripple from the shoulder, down to the elbow, to the wrist, even out to his fingers as he struck forward. Vega blocked with a forearm, went for a reversal, and had the man by the arm. Dorai turned his arm in Vega's hand so that he could grip Vega back, locked tight, and swept a foot forward, moving a bit quicker now. Vega pulled both of his feet off the ground and yanked Dorai into his knee. He didn't miss it when the man grunted quietly, and they released each other. "You're quicker than you let on," Dorai said finally. "Come on, don't hold back. I'm not that frail."

"I'm thinking I could say the same to you," Vega responded in a low voice, like the conversation needed to stay between them. He didn't like the way the man talked down to him. Not with outright condescension, but like he was humoring a child. Dorai nodded, and Vega found himself dodging a series of quick kicks, though not nearly as fast as Chun-Li. Still refraining from fighting as hard as he could. So maybe, Vega decided, he needed to make him let loose. Dorai's foot returned to the ground, never landing one of the kicks. No sense in stopping, Vega thought, so he returned one of his own. Dorai caught his leg, and Vega used his momentum to pull the other up, landing a blow to the side of the man's head. Dorai aimed low this time, leg striking out at about knee-height. Vega stepped back, then again as the next strike came.

A fist flew towards his face. He ducked. One more, he backed up. Another, he blocked. Another struck him in the ribs, harder now. The man's arms were nearly as fast as his legs, making two fists seem more like a flurry, and Vega was forced to wait out the assault, taking step after step backwards. He realized what Dorai was doing, trying to get him against the wall, but it wasn't an issue. When he felt the brick against his heel, he jumped, pushed off the wall, and was flipping over Dorai's head before the man could react. He slid a little more than he liked as he landed, but corrected himself, sweeping a low kick at the man's ankles.

"Oh!" he heard Sakura cry. "I want to learn how to do that, Ryu-san!"

Chun-Li uttered a few choice words of her own, now somewhere between embarrassed and shocked. Andres wasn't exactly a lazy wimp, but he definitely was _not _a seasoned martial artist. This display was the last thing she expected out of him. She remembered Guile's warning, that she might not know her boyfriend as well as she thought. This fight, combined with all of the other strange things he'd done lately, was like a dose of reality that she didn't want to take.

Dorai was moving a lot quicker now, and Vega found himself hard pressed to keep up. The man was definitely faster than Chun-Li, and stronger, too. He did what he could to avoid taking a hit, but it became nearly impossible to return a blow of his own. Suddenly, Dorai's foot slammed into Vega's thigh to prevent the kick he saw coming. Vega couldn't stop himself from crying out as pain rushed from the knife wound there. The blow ruffled the gauzy dressing, he could feel part of it slip away from its position, and he ducked back, trying not to put too much weight to that leg. He hadn't wanted the man to notice, but it was too late. "Are you alright?" Dorai asked.

Vega bit his tongue but nodded, waving him on.

"Maybe you should take it easy," Ryu said in his frustratingly calm and even voice. "You're bleeding."

At that, Dorai stood up, abandoning his fighting stance, a look of concern passing over his face. Vega couldn't tell if it was genuine or not. Chun-Li said something in Chinese in what Vega thought was a frustrated tone. Dorai said something back, and Chun-Li sighed loudly before taking Vega by the arm. "Come here!" she said, plainly angry, though Vega hadn't decided about what yet. He shrugged her off, but followed, knowing, at least, he needed to change his clothes now.

Vega didn't get a chance to say anything, having to keep up with Chun-Li, who was probably calling a cab. How was he supposed to know the man was going to be such a challenge?

"My dad didn't do that to you, did he?" She spoke in a sharp tone that made it clear she already knew the answer, so he didn't respond. "What happened?"

"Someone on the train," he said. Telling her it'd been another Shadaloo operative seemed like it'd just cause more problems. He obviously couldn't tell her he'd killed his assailants. And enjoyed every second of it.

"You didn't think I'd want to know that someone _stabbed_ you?" she said, and she seemed angrier than he'd ever seen her so far.

"I wasn't stabbed," he corrected.

"Lacerated!What difference does it make?!"

He shrugged, supposing it didn't make much of one, but he'd jumped at the opportunity to correct her. "I didn't want you to be worried," he tried, thinking maybe that would calm her down. It didn't.

"If someone's hurt you, I _want _to be worried!" She threw out her arms as she said it before crossing them over her chest and turning away from him. "You're so stupid sometimes! Both of you!" She waved a hand back to the reception hall, referring to her dad. He took in a breath through his nose, teeth grinding to prevent himself from calling her a few things in return. "You're both so-so-" She groaned, unable to finish the sentence and shook her hands. The sound of a car approaching made her go quiet. The ride back to the hotel was a tense one, and even the cab driver picked up on it, keeping to himself. He should've come back to the room on his own and let her yell at her dad instead.

He dreaded every step that took him closer to the room, but ultimately knew this was unavoidable. He watched as she opened the door, that fire he'd been wishing for earlier burning in her eyes. "There are so many things, I don't even know where to start," she all but snapped as she stepped inside. He didn't respond. "I feel like I don't even know who you are right now."

Again, he ignored her, unwilling to get into that conversation. He dug through his bag, trying to stay focused on treating the agitated injury.

"Why won't you talk to me?" she asked. The words were said with the weight of someone having held them in for a long time. Like they were finally bursting out because she couldn't keep them in anymore. "For the past couple of weeks, it feels like you've barely spoken to me."

"It's not a good time."

"Will there ever be a 'good time'?" she asked, plainly annoyed with his dismissive and uninterested tone.

"Maybe!" If he could switch back somehow, find his bizarre, idiot other-self who thought life was worth living with Chun-Li Xiang, then yes, there'd be a good time again. Let him have all the 'talks' and 'discussions'.

He cried out as the realization of such a possibility struck him. How had he been so oblivious? If he was here, in this weird, screwed up place, did that mean someone was making a show of being him in the real world? This version of him wasn't prepared for that kind of life. He caught sight of himself in the mirror and desperately wished there was some way to know what was going on, why this had happened, _if _it had happened or if he was just completely insane and making it all up. Could he figure out how to fix this on his own? Had he imagined his entire 'other' life?

"Andres?"

Her voice startled him, and he'd all but forgotten she was there. "What?" he asked.

"_Please, _talk to me. I'm worried about you," she said. It wasn't a demand anymore, but almost a plea, and he hated it. She shouldn't be pleading, ever. She was too strong and beautiful for that kind of behavior.

"Don't beg," he said sharply. "It doesn't suit you."

"What am I supposed to do if you won't answer me otherwise?"

"Stop asking," he said, like it should've been obvious. He'd let her distract him long enough. Pulling off his pants, he let out an irritated breath at the sight of the blood on his leg.

He knew she was watching him. Her voice got a bit softer when she spoke. "I can't do that when you're acting so strangely."

He wanted to tell her that _she _was the one who wasn't acting right. With all her concerns and worries. Her only concern should've been Shadaloo. Like his was now. How ironic. He laughed bitterly at that, and it seemed to upset her further.

"Andres. Please?"

Something about the sad and desperate way she said his name-his real name, the name his mother would have called him by if she was still alive-tipped him over. He looked her in the eyes and told her every unbelievable thing about his situation, but he did it all in Spanish. She watched him as he spoke heatedly, hands gesturing, head shaking from time to time. He told her that he didn't belong here, that he didn't want this life and he was sure of that. He told her how things should've been, that he killed people for a living and sometimes just for fun because it felt like they deserved it and he wasn't sure if that made him fucked up or something of a god, to decide people's fates that way. That he worked for Shadaloo, the terrorist organization that wasn't supposed to be any bigger than a small town, and that it was supposed to be her life's work to stop them. That she was beautiful but that he hated her with every ounce of his heart. Maybe it was because he was bitter that it seemed like her life was better than his in spite of their comparable situations, or maybe it was because he knew he couldn't have her and that she didn't want him to begin with and he did _not _deal well with rejection. He hated to admit to either one of those possibilities. It was easier to not question things, to just feel them, but this was forcing him to do so. "¿_Vale__?" _he said finally, taking a deep breath after finishing the rant she didn't understand more than the occasional word of. "_Vale vale vale,__"_ he muttered, waving a hand at her before disappearing into the bathroom.Some of it felt good to say, some of it he hated to even acknowledge.

"Well," she finally said. appearing at the door, "I'm not going to get that in English, am I?"

"No." He paused, thinking it was a blessing that she didn't seem to understand any of it. He'd gathered she didn't speak Spanish, and he supposed that wasn't so strange. Maybe she'd picked up a few words here and there from being around him, but he knew how difficult it could be to follow a conversation in a foreign language that you only knew some words of. The fact that he'd been so pissed off and spoke so quickly would've only made it more difficult for her.

"It's not really talking if you do it in a way that I can't understand."

He laughed at her, peeling away the ruined and bloodied bandages. She took a page from his book, throwing out a hand and shouting at him in Chinese. It made him smile, because it was more in line with what he was used to. He thought of times he'd taunted her to the point of exploding, and she'd shout like this. So angry she couldn't form an English sentence for a moment. "Okay?!" she cried finally.

"_Vale__."_

"You're so frustrating! I just want you to talk to me! Like you used to!"

"I'm sure I used to do a lot of things," he said, amused now more than annoyed and a part of him realized he enjoyed seeing her so angry. It made him feel better to be calm and collected while someone else exploded. He wondered briefly over what the hotel would do with a bloody washcloth before deciding he didn't care, and pressed it against his leg.

"Yes!"

"Like what?"

At that she blinked a little quicker than normal. "I don't know," she said, still annoyed with him. "Before, I didn't feel like I was bothering you every time I spoke to you. I felt like you wanted to hear what I had to say, even the most trivial things. You talked to me more. You were honest and open."

Maybe if he let her talk, she'd just move on already and stop bothering him. Maybe he could get through it all without having to say much. "What else?"

She watched him in the mirror as he pulled the cloth away from his leg. She frowned at the sight of the blood, at that gash in his leg that he never even told her about. "Lately you seem like an entirely different person."

"So what if I am?"

That made her turn to face him, and he was already looking at her. She studied him, thought about how bizarre it was that a person could have the same face they'd always had but still look so different. He had colder eyes, seemed less expressive in general, less warm, even his smiles had a strange quality to them. Like they were all forced or cynical. "I don't know," she said finally. "I don't know if you're just stressed or..." She didn't want to finish. But how could she expect him to talk to her when she could barely finish her own sentences? So she forced herself to say what she thought of his behavior. "You just remind me of how you were when your mom died." She sat on the edge of the bath tub, glancing at him for a reaction.

There was little outward sign of how he'd taken her statement. "How was I, when she died?" he asked and his voice even sounded strange to her now. Mechanical, or stoic.

"Off in your own world." She took a breath, finding it suddenly difficult to continue. But it'd make her feel worse to keep it to herself. "Sometimes, when you were asleep-the little bit of time you'd give yourself, anyway-your mom and I would sit together. Usually we watched movies or shows, or just read. The language barrier made it hard to have much of a conversation." He listened patiently, the mention of his mother now having taken up all of his attention. "She told me that you were like her. That loving someone so much could be hard on people like you. How, when your father died, it devastated her, but she still had you. She was afraid of what her death was going to do to you." His eyebrows drew together, but he still didn't say anything. She took the balled up cloth from him, straightened it out, folded it properly, and pressed it back against his leg. "She asked me, 'please, please, help him.' I promised I would be there for you." She stopped, glancing at him. "But now I feel like you don't want me to be."

He relaxed his jaw, not realizing how hard he'd been biting into his own tongue. He thought of how terrifying it must be for a person to realize they're going to die. How much stronger his mother was than him to be able to face that and think of his well-being instead of lamenting her own end. But she was right. He was like her, and he had loved her so much that her death had torn him apart. He had nothing if he didn't have her. He thought of her and his father, and would things have really been so much better for him if the man hadn't abandoned them? Why had he to begin with? What had changed here?

"No," he said finally, thinking of what Chun-Li had allegedly promised his mother. It sounded so surreal to think of that woman meeting his mother, much less speaking to her. For the sake of his alternate self, for the sake of his mother's memory, he had to cooperate. "No, I do." Maybe _he _didn't. But this wasn't entirely _his _life. There had to be a way to fix this, and if his other self was so happy with her, what good was he doing to sabotage that?

They were both quiet for a moment. She didn't feel fully convinced by his words, and he was still mulling over what she'd said about his mom. "I get it if you don't feel like talking now," she said. "I just really hope that changes."

"I'm trying," he muttered. "Trust me."

"Well...if there's anything I can do to help-"

"No," he said quickly, and saying she felt discouraged by that would be an understatement. She was certain at first he'd abandoned the medication he was meant to take, and she couldn't figure out how to say it to him. The thought of how aggressive he'd been lately made her hesitant to bring the subject of his illness up, but she knew it didn't do either of them any good to ignore it. After the fight with her dad however, she was beginning to think that what was going on was something bigger than that. That he'd been hiding something for a long time, and it was going to catch up with him. With them. And she didn't have words for how much that frightened her.


	10. Chapter 10

He really didn't feel like moving. She played with his hair, sometimes running her fingers through it, sometimes wrapping and unwrapping a few strands around her finger. It would have annoyed him to no end usually, but he felt too drowsy to voice a complaint and just let the irritation simmer. He felt her slow and even breaths on his chest, listened to them for some time, drifted in and out with them. He thought he was asleep until she said suddenly, "I love you."

His eyes opened. He could tell the sun was setting by the long, orange beams of light stretched across the ceiling from the window. What did he say to that? 'Good to know'? 'Thank you'? After the conversation they'd just had, she probably wanted to hear it and he wasn't sure if he could muster it up. He was usually so good at telling people what they wanted to hear. Was it difficult to lie to her because he expected her to know the truth? She didn't seem to be waiting for a response, and just kept toying with his hair. So he stayed quiet. He wouldn't offer anything if nothing was demanded of him. He couldn't say he loved her, even if his other self really, truly did feel that way. It would be deceptive. He was a good liar. Not to her, as it turned out, which made him wonder if he was just slipping due to the strange nature of the lies he was trying to tell. Either way, he wouldn't say it. There had to be another word to describe this contented feeling. How warm her body felt against his, how her breathing made him feel so calm. It was something nice, but he couldn't bring himself to call it love.

A knock at the door made him start. How long had they been laying here? _Why _was he laying here? That pain in his leg reminded him. She'd suggested maybe they take a few hours to relax. The heated conversation, the worry, the anger, the frustration, it'd gotten to them both. Along with the fact that they were a few hours removed from their normal schedule, she thought they could use some down time. He accepted the offer, and he didn't remember at which point she'd gotten into bed with him. Or when she laid her head on his chest. Or even when she'd started playing with his hair. He let her do all of that, thinking of that promise she said she'd made to his mom. He tried to picture what he might want out of a life more like this one, what it might be like to actually _want _Chun-Li around. He had to admit, it was pretty difficult to put himself into a state of mind he had little to no experience with.

"Hey," he heard her say as she peeked around the open door.

"Wakey wakey." His lips twitched at the sound of the voice on the other side of the door. Ken was truly the most obnoxious individual on the planet. "Guessing you aren't ready yet?"

"No, sorry, we kind of lost track of the time," she responded, waving back towards the room.

Ken's voice got lower, a bit harder to hear. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," she said emphatically, nodding. "We'll be down in a few minutes, okay?"

"Gotcha."

She closed the door and he looked away from her. "You're okay with going out tonight, right?" she asked tentatively. He thought of how familiar and confident she'd been when he first saw her walk in through the door of that apartment. In a period of two weeks he'd dismantled that confidence, trust, whatever it was. It left him somewhere between proud and disgusted.

"Yes," he answered, again going with the 'strength in numbers' theory.

Her fingers brushed through his hair, and she sat next to him, pulling him in for a kiss. It was a nice enough distraction, until she said again, "I really _do _love you. You know that, right?"

He couldn't look at her as she spoke because he wasn't sure what she'd see in his eyes. Anger, hatred, sadness. He felt her thumbs on his cheeks, gently stroking his skin and he took her by the hands to get her to stop. He forced a smile and nodded, pulling her hands away, but didn't say a word. This wasn't just for the sake of making things run smoothly anymore. He let go of her hands, picking his shirt up from the floor on his way to the bathroom.

He studied his reflection, raking his fingers through his hair, trying to make it neater. He felt strange to be so used to it now, remembering how shocking it felt when he first noticed the change. How light and short it was. He fixed the collar of his shirt, and when he was finally satisfied with his appearance, he turned out the light. The two of them left and he didn't relish the idea of spending another evening with her friends. He was doing just fine laying in that bed. He'd never be able to think of a better application of the word 'serene'. Even if it was her he was laying with. A part of him wanted to laugh at his stubborn hatred for her. He was kidding himself to think she _wasn't_ a large part of the reason he'd felt so calm, with her affectionate preening. He didn't want to admit that. He told himself it could've been anyone-anyone pretty enough, at least.

Chun-Li greeted Ken with a hug, though Vega didn't understand why. She'd just seen him earlier that day. "I bet you're excited!" she said as she let him go. "Just a handful of hours, now!"

"Yeah, man, it's just crazy," Ken said. "I'm nervous, but I'm not. It's weird, y'know? But I mean, ah, whatever." He waved his hands and shook his head. "It's time to go have some fun, one last wild night."

"Oh, yeah right," Chun-Li responded through laughter. "I highly doubt this will be your last 'wild' night."

Ken considered the statement and eventually nodded. "Yeah, you're right, but it sounded like the right thing to say."

"Where are we headed?" she asked.

"Well, as you know, in lieu of a more traditional bachelor party, I figured we'd hit up the restaurant where Eliza and I had our first date, head out to the park where I proposed, and who knows from there."

"I'm sure Eliza's pleased you decided not to take the strippers and liquor route," Chun-Li said, patting Ken on the back.

"Hell, it's Guile I'm more afraid of," Ken said, eyes widening. "That dude's going to basically be my brother, y'know? I really don't want to piss him off, and I bet he doesn't approve of stuff that most of us men find fun." Then he wrinkled his nose. "I don't think he even knows what 'fun' is. Maybe taking apart guns and putting them together again, something like that."

"All I meant," Chun-Li said, setting the conversation back on track, "was that this is a much sweeter way to spend the night before your wedding."

"Yeah, you taking notes over there, man?" Ken said with a grin as he looked at Vega.

"Something about strippers and liquor," Vega responded dryly, utterly uninterested in the entire conversation.

Ken laughed. "Somehow you don't strike me as the marrying type, anyway."

Vega didn't see himself as the marrying type either. He saw what good that did for people. It couldn't be a coincidence that two marriages in a row had been significantly destructive forces in his mom's life. "What type do I strike you as, then?" he asked, curious now of the impression he had made. He'd done his best to play the part of his alter-ego, and of course, he couldn't know for sure if he hit the mark or not. Maybe it wasn't good enough for Chun-Li, given that she'd noticed how different he was acting. But for her friends, the ones he barely knew, had he passed himself off as...himself well enough?

"You're like, god-tier or something." Vega couldn't help but laugh and Chun-Li groaned at Ken's assessment. "I'm serious, dude! You look like a model, but, like, in this effortless 'I woke up like this' way, you've got that whole accent going for you, you're all quiet and mysterious, you're an artist, I mean come on, even I want some _fritas _with that cafe con leche shake."

"Oh my God," Chun-Li muttered, a hand flying to her face.

"Well, calm down, _mi querido_, I'm taken," Vega said. His smile faded a little after saying that. Did he really think of himself as 'taken'? No, this was just another fling. That's how he'd come to understand it. He thought of this woman not as Chun-Li as he knew and hated her, but as some other woman. A very pretty woman. If he was stuck here forever in a world he was a stranger in, what kind of harm could come from having someone nice to look at along for the ride? At least, until he gained his bearings. Maybe he'd get back to where he belonged one day, and maybe not. Maybe he'd end up leaving her if he was still here for too much longer. But as things stood now, he could tolerate her because she was beautiful, and that was that. Nothing more, nothing less.

"Look, I just come by my man-crushes honestly, all right?" Ken said.

"It's quite sweet of you," Vega responded. "But maybe you should learn to be a better liar?"

He hadn't realized the impact that off-hand comment would have. Chun-Li glanced up as they left the hotel, feeling suddenly paranoid. The banter between Ken and her boyfriend-though she was certain most of it was Ken speaking-became a little fuzzy to her as she changed her focus to her thoughts. Something about him telling Ken to be a better liar stuck with her. She hated to be so suspicious of him, and knew it was just a playful remark. But it wouldn't leave her head. She thought of Guile, too, and his earlier assertion about people keeping who they really were a secret. All of this horrible Shadaloo business, what had gotten Andres caught up in it? How had he ever managed to get on their radar? And in such a way it made them want to kill him? He seemed so flippant about it, like it was nothing to worry too much over. And his story about a mugger on the train-was that true, or not? She wanted to take his word for it, but it seemed like he may have been leaving something out.

"Right Chun-Li?"

She looked up at the sound of Ken's voice. "Oh, what? I'm sorry, I got a bit distracted."

"Your dad. He's like a Tai Chi expert, isn't he?"

She shook her head, slightly irritated at the reminder of what'd happened earlier that day. Now she was less annoyed with her dad. Maybe he'd had been trying to tell her something by challenging her boyfriend to that little sparring session. At first, she thought it was more of her dad showing him who was still the boss. He did this in subtle, almost friendly ways. A comment here, a suggestion there, trying to stay non-invasive and involved all at the same time. He'd done it with everyone she'd ever dated, and she figured it was just part of being a daughter. She couldn't fault him. She was sure if she ever had children, she'd want to make sure whoever they ended up with wouldn't do them wrong in some way.

But these little remarks had taken on a different tone since the break-in. She knew her dad was suspicious now, even if he didn't show it in obvious ways. So was that fight with Andres a way to show her that there was more to her boyfriend than she knew about? That there was good reason to be suspicious? How and when had he learned to fight like that, so fluid, quick, never second-guessing himself? Surely it would've come up at some point in their five years together, given her own interest in martial arts. Why would he keep something like that such a secret? "My dad is obviously very competent," she answered, trying not to get too lost in her thoughts before responding to them. "He's much more skilled than I am. But I think you're thinking of Gen."

"Right, right," Ken said, nodding. "How does your dad know him?"

"I'm not really sure. I never thought about it," she said with a shrug. "They've just always been friends. He helped sharpen my dad's technique, and I learned a bit from both of them." Gen could be a bit intimidating. She remembered being pretty scared of him as a child. He had kind of a severe look to him, seemed deadly serious about everything. But he was just one of those people you had to know very well to get anything out of. Maybe he couldn't be called a 'warm' person, exactly, but his kindness was the sort you had to look for to notice. Otherwise, he may just seem blunt and harsh. Once she'd moved with her dad to the United States, she lost Gen as a teacher and hadn't seen him in a long time.

"Well, damn, if he's better than your dad, I sure as hell don't ever want to meet him in a fight," Ken said.

"Good, you're a pushover anyway," Chun-Li said, smiling back at him. She was trying to force herself out of these morose ruminations, but wasn't sure yet how well it would work. How pervasive her thoughts about Andres might get. She wanted to be able to be happy for her friends, to enjoy this night with them, but it was difficult with such a weight hanging over her head.

Worried as she was, the rest of the evening flowed smoothly. After the brief conversation she'd had with her dad in the reception hall, he seemed to back off a bit. She couldn't say how long that would last, but he at least seemed to realize that tonight wasn't the right time to push the issue. She was sure he had his concerns and this wouldn't be the last time she heard about them.

Andres had been quiet for the most part. Everyone seemed to be a bit more careful about talking with him, she noticed. There was that awkward, sort of obvious politeness when her friends spoke to him, and it made her uncomfortable. Ken was the only one who seemed to be able to speak with him easily, but that wasn't saying much. Ken could talk to a wall and consider it a stimulating conversation. She'd pictured her friends getting along with Andres as well as they had with her. The reality was turning out to be much different. Thoughts of Shadaloo crept back into her mind and she wondered if that was why they all seemed so way of him. Were they afraid they were making friends with a criminal? It frustrated her to even think that. He'd had so many friends back in Europe, had been so personable. Now it was like someone flipped a switch and he seemed to be forcing his way through every conversation he had. Like the mere thought of talking to them, or even her, was a challenge, an exhausting trial.

She did her best to ignore those thoughts through the night. It was a bit easier with her friends to distract her from them. But once alone again, they came back and there was nothing to keep them at bay. She managed to sleep eventually, and remembered noting with a tinge of bitterness that he wasn't in bed with her. When she woke up the next morning, he was already awake, drinking coffee and reading something on his phone.

"Coffee's gross," she said, trying and failing to start her day out with the sort of playful ribbing she was starting to miss.

"No one's making you drink it." He hadn't even looked at her when he spoke. She decided maybe it wasn't something that she could force back into her life, and hoped maybe a warm shower would make her feel a bit better.

He glanced up at the bathroom door to reassure himself she was out of sight. He didn't have to worry about her trying to read into what he was doing and getting worked up about it. The bodies of the men he'd killed had been found. No leads or suspects as of yet. Their connection to Shadaloo had recently been discovered. He didn't feel an ounce of remorse over them. If they hadn't threatened him, they'd still be alive. It'd been their decision to die, not his. Now he just had to keep an eye on their story to make sure he didn't somehow become a suspect. He sighed heavily, not seeing any other news on Shadaloo. No more expansion, no more high profile assassinations. Did that mean something big was coming?

There wasn't much time for him to worry over it. She was finished, and he'd be hard pressed to say the sight of her in just a towel was an easy one to ignore. He wouldn't be obvious about it though. He didn't need her thinking his appreciation for her was anything more than superficial. He didn't need himself thinking that either, though that thought zipped through his head so quickly that it may as well not have even been there at all.

She quickly had him thinking about the reason they were here in Seattle to begin with. This wedding business. Last day of being forced to put up with her friends and family before he was reduced to only putting up with her. What a frustration all of this was, to be so lost in a bizarre situation with no obvious way out. He'd given up on his daily ritual in the shower of trying to will himself back to that bar in New York. The longer he went without getting back to reality, the more the suspicion that this _was _reality began to creep into his mind. Maybe he was insane. Maybe if he took those pills he'd realize that this had always been his life and he'd never had another.

No. He had to keep his thoughts straight. These differences were all too much. She'd never loved him, never came close to even liking him. He belonged back at Shadaloo. The regular Shadaloo, not the one that was stealing, bit by bit, parts of an entire continent. He thought of Cammy and the Dolls, still stuck there against their will without even realizing it. He felt sick. Cammy didn't belong there, but what could he do to change that, if anything? The idea of giving up on her was just as unappealing as trying to sneak in there and save her. She didn't know him, and she'd kill him before he could do anything to change her. If someone else didn't first.

A few hours later, and he found himself closer to the end of this trip. He was used to situations like this. Nice, formal dinner parties were something he knew and he was grateful for this small piece of familiarity. Even if he didn't really care for any of these people, it was still a setting that made him feel more at home. There were few people he considered friends, but when people sent out invitations to parties or weddings it seemed that they weren't picky about who received one. Being a person of status meant being sought after for every little event held by other people of status. It was part of the game, and he certainly didn't mind playing. He generally used weddings as an opportunity to find a single woman who, overcome by the inevitably romantic atmosphere, was very willing to be seduced. He couldn't do that now, obviously. Not with his alleged girlfriend sitting next to him.

But it kept him from being alone where one of Shadaloo's assassins could pick him off without too much risk. The more time he spent in public, the better. Someone was giving a speech, the same tired tripe about romance and true love and how even though it's supposed to be such a rare phenomenon, Ken and Eliza were the obvious exception. He wasn't listening, instead trying to line up the ends of his silverware out of utter boredom, his other hand on his knee tapping out the rhythm to a song stuck in his head. He remembered suddenly a wedding he'd gone to when he was ten or so, competing with another boy who'd been sitting beside him as they used their spoons to fling bits of food into another guest's glass of wine. His mother hadn't been very pleased, was ready to admonish him, and then she saw the man whose wine it was. He remembered how she rolled her eyes. "Do one more, just for me, then stop it." He remembered the man eventually noticing the small particles of bread or shrimp or whatever it was, how he and the other boy were implicated. She'd half-heartedly scolded him, and he knew it was half-hearted, because when she was really angry she called him by his whole name. Definitely not 'Andresito', at least.

There was clapping and he looked up, seeing that the speaker had finished. He didn't really care for what had been said. True love was a terribly childish concept, and he'd never met anyone who was completely satisfied with their partner. Sure, everyone's relationships always seemed to start out perfectly. New couples were the most annoying people on the planet for that very reason, as they couldn't ever shut up about each other. Eventually they'd find things to hate each other for, perfect as they thought the other was. He also found it statistically improbable that, out of seven billion people spread across an entire planet, one would just _happen _to stumble upon the person 'meant for them'. It was laughable. Love itself seemed a questionable idea at times, but true love was an outright fantasy.

He kept glancing around the room, thinking about how many of these people he recognized as his enemy, and they didn't even realize it. The surreal and strange nature of his life for the past two weeks had not lessened any. Instead, some new event would spur him back into wonderment at his situation just as he was beginning to think he had a handle on it. He never thought he'd have much of a conversation with any of these people that didn't involve trading death threats. If someone told him Ken Masters would try to teach him how to play a video game, he would've laughed in their faces. If someone told him he'd ever _meet _Dorai Xiang, let alone play a sort of verbal chess with him, he'd have suggested therapy. If someone told him he'd be sleeping with Chun-Li Xiang...

Better not to think of how he'd react to that.

He looked up when he felt someone take his hand. A lot of the people at the table weren't there, instead milling about with their friends or trying not to look awkward as they danced. He turned his eyes back to her, and she nodded towards the nearest door. He let her lead him outside. It was chilly, a bit of a breeze playing with his hair, the waves of the Puget Sound rolling gently against the sand. "It was a little crowded in there," she explained. He didn't quite know what to say, and leaned back against the brick wall of the building. She took his hand again, and pulled herself closer. What had he been thinking about people being inevitably incensed by the air of romance? He let a breath out slowly through his nose. He felt like he'd been backed into a corner.

She rested her head against his shoulder and he let her. He didn't know what he was doing, how much of him was still just playing the part he'd been thrust into and how much of him was really enjoying this. Something close, intimate, feeling her breathe, her fingers interlaced with his. Maybe he didn't mind this. Maybe he thought it was expected of him.

And he suddenly didn't know if he could keep it up. She offered time and time again for him to tell her anything. He wondered now if that was still on the table. How would she react if he told the truth? He knew nothing he had to say about who he really was could be taken seriously. He was allegedly out of touch. But then, was that a blessing in disguise? Was it a chance at a clean slate? To confess everything wrong he'd done, only to have it washed away under the label of delusion? Maybe she wouldn't believe it, but she'd listen all the same, and was that what made it count? The prospect made him nervous and excited. He didn't have to keep fighting against her, didn't have to keep pretending to be somebody else. He could be him, sins and all, and maybe she'd still love him all the same. "Chun-Li," he said, the syllables seething their way slowly out of his mouth. It felt strange to even say her actual name, as he was almost always mocking her with pet names in an effort to disturb her.

"Hm?" she hummed, head still against his shoulder and he suddenly found it harder to breathe. Was he really going to go through with this?

"I think-," he started. She pulled away, looking up at him, patiently waiting, and how could he think he'd be able to say all of this? 'I'm a murderer, utterly insane, I've tried again and again to kill you, but if you give me a chance...' He really _was _delusional, just not in the way she'd think he was if he spoke. "Maybe-" he tried again, forcing himself to continue, and no. He couldn't do it. Couldn't face that what he would say would probably just frighten her, if anything. There was no starting over. He was who he was, and there was no escaping his problems regardless of whether or not he'd consider them as such. He felt weak for thinking he wanted her to love him to begin with. Love took work. Love was hard. Hating her was easier, and he thought maybe it was the sort of thing he couldn't force himself to change. "I need to step back in for a minute," he finished lamely.

"Okay," she said, and he could tell there was a hint of disappointment. She expected something, but what? He didn't know. He barely knew her, he told himself, and that was another reason to mock himself for wanting her. She followed him back into the warm, crowded room, and he headed to the bathroom. There was no one else in there, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He tugged a little on the tie, loosening it up. Catching sight of himself in the mirror, he stared, studying that alien reflection. Him, but not him. Him, but better. Even if he didn't have as much money. Even if he wasn't famous throughout Spain. Even if he wasn't convinced of his own perfection. Even if he was living an average, safe life, involved with a woman he thought he hated. That person he saw in the mirror had all the things he didn't, all the things he thought weren't needed.

The door swung open, startling him a bit. He didn't recognize the man, and they ignored each other. So much for being alone for a minute. Finally, he decided he wasn't going to tell her. It would just cause problems. If he'd been put here somehow, there had to be a way to get out, and his other self would come back. He tried to tell himself that was enough of a consolation. That version of him would be able to mend things and have this kind of happiness. He didn't need it. He was fine by himself, he was fine hating her, she was fine hating him.

With that resolution in mind, he opened the door. He paused at the sight of her. She'd been waiting for him, he supposed, but now she stood in the hall, an expression on her face that read somewhere between puzzled and horrified. A distinct and familiar sound reached his ears, and his heart sank. A tanden engine whirred as it powered up.


	11. Chapter 11

He didn't think, just bolted out into the hall and grabbed her around the waist. They crashed into the door of the women's bathroom as the machine made its move, the floor now a cracked and ruined mess where she'd been standing. She let out a terrified cry when she saw it, hand coming to her mouth. "What is that?!"

"We have to get out of here, now," he said, pushing the door closed and turning the lock. It wasn't much, but any second it'd buy them was worth it. The machine would come stomping in and waste them both if they didn't hurry. His heart was racing as he tried to reach the bathroom window, but they were too high. "Come here," he demanded, waving at her. It was a pleasant surprise that she still responded quickly in stressful situations. "Get on my shoulders, open the window, then pull me up." She nodded, eyes flicking up to her new target.

She wasn't heavy, but the heels made supporting her weight a little painful. The alternative made its presence known, the door slamming into the wall as it entered. He heard her cry out, felt her wobble before she took a very, very tight hold of his hair. He would've shouted at her for that, but there were more pressing matters to attend to, like not having his limbs torn from his body by a seven foot tall robot. "Keep going!" he ordered. Hesitation was going to mean death. He heard something squeal noisily, and she had the window open. He winced as she put too much pressure on his shoulders, but the sound of the tanden engine whirring again served as an horrific distraction. He looked up and she was halfway out the window. He looked back and the violet hued aiming reticle glittered in the row of mirrors. He thought certainly his heart was going to crash through his rib cage when he caught sight of her hand waving madly. He jumped, caught it, the machine lunged forward. They both screamed, she as her stomach was pulled painfully against the brick edge of the outer sill, him as he jumped up in time to avoid having his legs broken. The brick in the wall below crumpled to dusty pieces, and the machine drew its fist back, adjusting its sights.

He felt something grab his leg as he tried to climb up towards the window. His eyes flew wide, locking onto hers, and she cried his name desperately as she realized what that meant. He gritted his teeth, slammed his free foot into the machine's wrist. It didn't feel pain and he knew it. He could possibly throw its balance off and he gave it a blow to the side of the head. A shudder ran through it, but the grip never relented. It pulled, and he screamed, feeling like his ligaments were reaching their limit. He kicked again and finally he was free. Not wasting a moment, even as painful as it was, he got a hand on the sill and pulled himself up. She dropped down outside, and a small part of his mind made the time to note how impressive it was that she didn't even stumble in spite of her high heels. He pushed himself out, winced as he landed on his feet.

It was foolish of him to think that machine had been the only one.

They communicated wordlessly for the most part, sending signals to each other, and it gave them no reason to give away their locations by speaking. The one that found them in the bathroom must have relayed their position, and he heard metallic feet pounding noisily on the pavement. Its eyes, which couldn't even be called 'cold' because that implied too much in the way of humanity, were fixed on them as it approached steadily. "Come on," he said, and he took her by the wrist. Where could he go? Fighting them was suicide. Maybe one, he could deal with, but he remembered the tests. The painful, painful tests. These things learned from their mistakes instantly, and a punch from one felt what he imagined being hit by a car must feel like. They were faster than he had any hope of being in his lifetime, and they analyzed their surroundings just as quickly to utilize them as efficiently as possible.

He pulled her along with him as he tried to make it around the building. There was a road they could follow. The other direction was the shore, and the water wouldn't stop the machines. It'd do Bison little good to create these things if they had such a simple weakness. But he knew it was hopeless to think they could outrun them.

Their path to the road was cut short when a third android appeared from around the corner of the building. She shrieked at the sight of it, and he pulled on her again. Back inside, through the corridor they'd just escaped from. A few of the wedding guests were already inspecting the gouge left in the floor by the machine, the mangled door to the bathroom. People tried to point it out to them, but he was already pushing his way through, trying to think of how to best handle the situation. "Andres, what is going on?" She was pulling on him now, trying to get him to stop.

"_Not_ a good time," he said. Things were about to get a bit messy. He smirked in spite of the situation. Messy was wrong. It was going to be a massacre.

A hand on his shoulder almost made him throw out a punch, but he stopped himself. He met Dorai's concerned gaze, and he wanted to scream at all of the distractions and interruptions. "What's the rush?" Dorai asked.

"Something-" Chun-Li started to explain, gesturing back towards the door they'd come in through. A series of screams and exclamations cut her off. They all looked towards the source of the noise. Towering over everyone in the room, the first of the machines stood stock still at the end of the hall as it scanned the crowd. Most everyone had scrambled away from it. Vega dropped lower, trying to keep from being seen by it. Tugging once on Chun-Li's wrist brought her to his level. If the Dolls had named her as collateral when they attacked, it probably wasn't too far-fetched to assume the androids would recognize her as a potential link to their target as well.

The place was in complete chaos. Music was still playing, people were shrieking and screaming, rushing out of the building. He tried to keep something between himself and the androids' lines of sight, but it was proving more difficult than he'd like. "What are those?" he heard Dorai say, and didn't the man ever feel any kind of panic or terror?

"Dad, get down!" Chun-Li said quickly. Vega almost told her it didn't matter if he stood up or not. The things weren't after him. They'd scan his face and realize it wasn't a match for his own, and ignore him unless he became hostile.

Dorai crouched beside her, glancing back at the machines that weaved their way through the panicked crowd. "What's going on here?" he asked. Finally, some hint of sternness, some concern. Human after all.

"We have to _go," _Vega said impatiently through gritted teeth. One of the androids was getting closer. The longer they stayed here, the more danger they were in. "But we have to move fast. A vehicle would be nice."

"I think Guile rented something for the weekend," Dorai said. "Or maybe Ken-"

"Hadoken!" The defiant but naive cry made all three of them freeze.

None of them wanted to face what had just happened. A few feet away, Sakura stood in a fighting stance. She refused to run, but she didn't understand that she couldn't defeat this enemy. Instead, she'd just made it stronger by teaching it how to throw a projectile. Where was Ryu? Weren't those two supposed to be attached at the hip? Vega scanned the few remaining people in the place and found the man. He looked out of place in that suit and without his headband, but he was pushing desperately towards her. The machine had already set its sites on her, and given her stance, she wasn't convinced she couldn't handle it. What choice did he have? The ugly monsters were going to crush her for interfering with them. They'd find him either way, so did it matter if he expedited the process and kept her from being maimed, if not killed? Drawing in another agitated breath, he forced himself to his feet and shouted, "Sakura, _run!" _

All three mechanical heads swiveled around at the sound of his voice. The distraction gave Ryu enough time to reach Sakura. He grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her away, though Vega could hear her proclaiming stubbornly that she could help fight. "Consensus reached. Target confirmed: Andres Quesada Navarro." It wasn't unsettling when the three of them spoke in unison, not at all.

"No," he heard Chun-Li practically whimper. Something awful laced her voice-guilt, regret, shame, defeat, he didn't know. It'd be difficult for her to convince herself he wasn't at fault for something now. Multiple assassins had come to kill him. It couldn't be written off as a mistake.

"Let's find that car," Dorai said, nodding slowly as the trio of mechanical soldiers stalked calmly towards them. The one at the lead drew its arms back, and they scrambled out of the way as it threw a bright and powerful projectile. Dorai stumbled back into a chair. Chun-Li was beside him, trying to get him to his feet. Vega found himself halfway under one of the tables. He pushed himself back with his feet, trying to move quietly, but he knew they'd keep track of his movements. He was just about on the other side of the table when the whole thing went flying away to the right. On either side of him and at his feet, there towered the androids. The one to his left lifted its massive leg. This wasn't going to end well for him.

Suddenly, he felt something dig into his arms and he was moving backwards. A crack resounded through the room as the machine drove its foot through the floor about where his ribs had been. A gruff and angry voice came from behind him, "What the hell have you dragged us all into?" It was Guile yanking and dragging him back across the floor.

"Stop, stop!" Vega demanded, pushing himself up to walk on his own.

"Oh, you know, 'thanks' is the traditional response for someone saving your sorry ass!" Guile shouted back, shoving him towards the nearest door. Vega threw a glance over his shoulder to see Chun-Li and Dorai were gone. The machines were closing in. "Move it!" Guile all but barked, pushing again and Vega fought very hard not to shove him back. So what if he'd dragged him away from having his chest caved in? That didn't give him the right to rough him up and push him around.

They made it to the front without further incident, and he was relieved to see someone had the good sense to get a car started. He caught sight of Ryu scrambling into the back of a vehicle, too. Guile still had him by the collar, as if he were a petulant kid being led off to his punishment. The back door of the car was yanked open and Guile shoved him towards it before getting into the passenger seat himself. Dorai wasted no time, and they took off.

"Spill it kid, or I'm going to beat it out of you," Guile snapped, doing his best to turn around and face him.

"I don't-"

"Don't try to lie your way out of this!" It was good advice, as it obviously wasn't going to work for him. "Those things said _your _name! And you know, maybe Chun-Li has a thing for you, but I sure as hell don't! If pushing you out of this car right now will get those things off our tail, I'm inclined to do it!"

"Guile!" Chun-Li cried. Vega felt her hand on his arm, squeezing a little harder than necessary.

"Fine, you want to know?" Vega said, pulling his arm away roughly. They could have their answers. There was no point in trying to hide anymore. The next step in the line of threats would be Bison himself and he couldn't wait around for that encounter, if he even survived this one. The machines were relentless, powerful, fast. They didn't stop to sleep, or eat, or take any kind of break that a normal person might. So what use was there in trying to keep up the act with something like that on the prowl? "Not that _I _remotely understand what's going on, to be perfectly clear. I'm not _from _here, wherever or whatever 'here' is. I get out of a shower one day and I'm dropped into the middle of somebody else's life. That's what I know."

"What are you talking about?" Guile said, plainly dissatisfied with the response.

"This isn't my life!" he shouted, frustrated with everything. His near death experience-Jesus, what was the count by now?-the barrage of questions, the bizarre situation, his confused responses to it, it was all too much. Those machines were the final blow to the fragile lies he'd managed to keep up with, and now everything was crumbling down. Maybe that was a good thing, in a way. He was used to lying to people, but not like this. "I'm not a professor, the only thing I've ever taught _anyone_ was how to kill things, I'm not cohabiting with somebody I hate, all of you are scrambling for my arrest-" He laughed as he glanced out the window, delirious and hysterical. "I've tried to kill you multiple times, how could any of this be possible?"

"You've lost me," Dorai muttered.

"What the hell are you trying to say?" Guile asked.

"No, Andres, you need-" Chun-Li said, trying to calm him down.

"I _need _to get back home! I made a mistake, trying to contact Bison for help! Look where that got me!" He gestured back towards the beach they'd just left, towards the machines still in pursuit. They were still within their line of sight, but far enough away for them to feel safe for the moment.

"Why would you..." She shook her head slowly, still not following. Or maybe she just didn't want to. Maybe she loved him too much to be able to face that he'd go to a terrorist for help.

"Because I _work _for Shadaloo!"

There were no more protests, no more questions. She didn't try to defend him, only watching him sadly. Finally, she spoke, almost meekly, so uncharacteristic, what had he done to her? Did this mean he won? "No, you're just sick."

He laughed derisively. She'd take anything she could to try to make it out like he was blameless. He'd just admitted to her some of the more horrible things he did with his life and she couldn't face that someone she loved had the potential for such violence. "No, no. I work for him. I'm a commander, responsible for assassinations and the occasional bout of espionage."

Again, there was a silence. Dorai was the one to break it, in that infuriatingly even and calm tone of his. As though nothing could ever shock him or rile him up. "Why is Bison trying to kill you if you work for him?"

"Because this-" he waved his hand, unable to come up with a better word, "-version of me doesn't work for Shadaloo."

"The hell are you talking about?" Guile asked, not hiding for a moment how confused he was.

Vega sighed angrily. It seemed impossible to explain, and even if he could, what chance was there that any of them would believe him? He was allegedly delusional, it could all be waved away as part of an illness. The length of time he'd been here was beginning to make him question whether this was real or not. Maybe he _was_ insane and his associations with Shadaloo were all imagined. How could he prove to himself it wasn't? Which was more likely, to be dropped into a parallel life, or to be suffering from a psychotic disorder? "This isn't _my _life," he repeated, maybe somewhat for his own benefit. "Here, the person _you _know, he didn't join Shadaloo. He didn't have anything to do with them so far as I can tell. So don't hate him if he ever comes back. But me?" He shrugged, glancing out the window. "I did. I still live in Barcelona. I'm a matador to most people. A Shadaloo assassin. Chun-Li, you're a detective with Interpol. Your dad has been dead for years. Shadaloo never got so...successful."

"Hell of a story, but if you're just trying to set yourself up as insane-" Guile began to say but the accusation stung too much for Vega to bear. He was sick of wondering about his own mental facilities. He was perfect and right, and he knew what he was doing was important. Most geniuses were never understood in their own time and he was certain, one day, people would realize that. He was fine. Maybe this other version of him wasn't, for whatever reason, but he was just fine.

"I'm not insane. I know who I am, and _this _is not it." He stopped, looked over his shoulder. He couldn't see the machines anymore as they merged onto a highway. Would they catch up again? Surely someone in the wedding party notified the police by now. How big of a scene was this going to cause? "It doesn't matter. Bison thinks I know more than I should. I shouldn't have tried to get in touch with him. It was a stupid mistake, but I didn't think he wouldn't know who I was. He'll kill me before you ever get a chance to bring me to whatever justice you feel I deserve for contacting him." He hadn't vocalized that concern out loud yet, and hearing the words finally made it real. He was dead. There was no escaping it. Everything he did from this point forward was just an attempt to prolong the inevitable.

"You need to see a psychiatrist," Dorai said. Again, no accusations in his tone, nothing that betrayed any kind of disgust or disappointment. It was just a simple statement of fact. "Obviously you have contacted Shadaloo in some way to get them to send these people after you, but all the rest, the story about having a different life, you're having delusions-"

He sighed loudly and groaned. "What do I have to say to prove myself here? If I'm just delusional, why would Bison waste resources on finding and killing me? He understands I know more than I should, more than a person who has no prior contact with Shadaloo could have, more than just some rambling mental patient. If I was just ill, he wouldn't bother with all of this! Ask me anything about them, I'll probably know it. Some things have changed, but I'm bound to know things someone who is just delusional shouldn't know!"

"Calm down," Dorai said. "You just need help, just like anyone else with an illness."

"Shit, Chun-Li," Guile muttered, sighing heavily.

For some reason, that only made Vega more irritated. It was like an implication that she'd made a mistake by being with him. Even if he didn't want to be with her, he couldn't stand to be thought of as an unwanted problem. "First Lieutenant Charlie Nash, that's his name and rank, isn't it? Your friend that would have gone missing maybe..." Christ, what year was it? This was all too complicated. "Well, maybe, four or five years ago? I would've called him 'Agent Shadow', and yes, I understand how awfully stupid that name is, but I'm not allowed to designate code names."

"What are you trying to prove?" Guile snapped.

"I met you for the first time last weekend," Vega said. "Why do I know this is your best friend if I've only met you once before?"

"Chun-Li told you!" Gule insisted.

"He's a Shadaloo commander now," he continued. "I'm sure that's quite painful for you."

"Sick or not, you're edging your way towards an ass beating," Guile growled.

"Will," Dorai said calmly. He shook his head at the other man. Take pity on the sick bastard whose brain is turning to mush before our eyes.

"And you," Vega said. He laughed once. "I'm sure you remember the horrendously ugly and pale face of Veikko Suominen. The man that was supposed to kill you. Finnish, blond, deep-set blue eyes. He was a commander before I joined Shadaloo, the former head assassin."

Dorai glanced back at him, brows drawn together. Maybe he was on the right track. Maybe he just had to keep telling them about Shadaloo and they'd believe that he wasn't insane. "How do you know that?"

"You people are thick," he said. "I told you. I. Work. For. Shadaloo. Maybe this version of me in this reality doesn't, but this is what I'm trying to explain-I'm not from _here._"

"Here is the only reality, kid," Guile said, refusing to accept such an outlandish claim.

"Right. That's why I know Shadaloo is located two hundred kilometers northwest of Bangkok's city center. That's why I know the identity of every Doll, where they are from, that two of them are genetically engineered humans created on site. That's why I know how to give them orders. That's why I know those androids pursuing us learn by example and that the tanden engines are their vulnerabilities. That's why I know where Bison's weak spot is. That's why-" He stopped suddenly. Bison's weakness was the psycho drive. If that was destroyed, it could buy him a lot of time. It would weaken Bison. Was it worth the risk to become a much bigger target? But then, what other option did he have? Sitting around waiting to be killed wasn't in his nature. If this was his best option, he had to take it. "That's why I know how I'm going to end this."

"No, you need to see a doctor," Chun-Li practically begged.

"If I destroy the psycho drive, he'll be significantly weakened for long enough to buy myself time to try to disappear." Getting home, he was beginning to realize, just didn't seem like an option. He knew how difficult it was to hide from Shadaloo, but in the confusion of Bison's death, he might be able to achieve it.

"How do you know about the psycho drive?" Guile said. "That's classified intel. We don't want him to know we know about it."

"I'm so tired of repeating myself," he said, sinking lower in his seat. These people weren't going to be any help to him, but they might try their hardest to stop him. He couldn't be confined now. He'd be a sitting duck. "It's going to be in Shadaloo."

"'Shadaloo' is about the entirety of Indochina, so that's really not narrowing it down."

"The _original _Shadaloo. Like I said, two hundred kilometers northwest of Bangkok. It should still be there, given how difficult it would be to move it, and only one can exist at any given time. He said otherwise, it'd split him up into pieces or some other nonsense, I don't know, this psycho power, it's complicated."

"No shit," Guile said. He still seemed skeptical, but ventured to ask, "You really know where it is?"

"Yes, definitely. If it isn't there, I slip out, no one will even know I was there." Possibly.

"How do you know you're that good?" Guile asked.

"You don't get to be the head assassin in Shadaloo by lumbering around like a bear, you realize?" It was terribly frustrating to be questioned and challenged at every turn. He knew he could do this if they just got out of his way and let him be.

"Let's entertain the notion that you're right about this," Dorai said. "With the right kind of help, could you-"

"Don't even think about it!" Chun-Li cried quickly. "He needs help, not a Navy SEALs team!"

"I'm going to do this one way or the other, and there's a much more significant likelihood of success if I have some assistance," Vega said. Even if they didn't believe him and gave him no help, he'd find a way to get to Thailand, make the trek to Shadaloo himself, with whatever explosives he could acquire, and get it done. It might take a lot longer, but it'd be worth it.

"Is it really wise to send a person who's been professionally diagnosed with a psychotic disorder on an incredibly dangerous mission into the middle of a terrorist warzone?" Chun-Li said. She couldn't believe she even had to ask something like that. "He's delusional, he needs _help. _You're making it worse by telling him you believe him. Even if you guys, for some reason, think he knows where this vulnerability is, why wouldn't you just drone strike it or something? Why send him? Or anyone?"

"Drones are taken down the second they cross into Shadaloo controlled airspace," Guile said. "A small squad traveling on foot has a higher chance of success. But I'm with you on this. I think it's a mistake to make such a high-risk move based on what could just be delusions."

"I don't care if you believe me or not," Vega said. "If I don't do this, I'm as good as dead."

"No, we'll figure this out," Chun-Li insisted. "There's got to be a way, some kind of witness protection thing, I don't-"

"I know for a fact that there is no hiding from Bison. I've seen the efforts people have gone through to hide from him. Once you're a mark, it's over. This is my best opportunity."

She looked up at him, and he'd never seen her so desperate and sad before. Something about him, he supposed. He couldn't make her happy, only crush her further and further until nothing was left but a bitter husk. Just like-

In an instant, their world was spinning. The squeal of crumpling metal and cracking glass whirled around them as the car tumbled over sideways. For a split second they felt weightless before being briefly suspended against their restraints. Vega tried to cover his head but found it difficult to move as the car flipped over one more time, jerked suddenly to the right. Tire tread flew by his window, and something big and heavy was flung over the side of the bridge. Another jolt ran through the vehicle as they hit the concrete barrier, he closed his eyes waiting to feel his stomach drop as they careened into the water. But they didn't go over, instead wedged in the barrier, the front of the car pointing down. There was something churning in the water, one of the machines, he realized. He'd opened his eyes again just in time to see a piece of concrete slam into its head. Wasn't that lucky. He held his breath, feeling for all the world like the slightest bit of movement would dislodge the car and send them over the edge. The fall probably wouldn't kill them, but it certainly wouldn't be ideal. Then he remembered the other two machines and a small debate broke out in his mind over which was really the worse fate. "Well, shit," Guile breathed, slowly pushing back the deflating airbag.

"Is everyone okay?" Dorai asked.

"Peachy keen," Chun-Li muttered, though her voice made it plain that she was pretty shaken up.

Vega turned slowly to see the two remaining machines already closing in. Traffic had all but stopped behind them, only the most oblivious and persistent of motorists continuing on past the wreckage. They'd been launched into the opposite lanes, he realized.

"Okay," Guile said, taking another deep breath. "Count of three, everybody out." He looked back over his shoulder at the bizarre robot assassins, took another breath. "One." He unbuckled his seat belt, heard the others do the same. The car made an awful, whining noise at the movements. "Two." He put his hand on the door handle, hoping for all the world the car didn't start sliding over the bridge. "Three!" He pushed hard, jumped out, feet on solid ground. One step towards safety. The car groaned, slid forward, the force of the four of them jumping out at once being just enough to tip it. The back tires caught briefly on what was left of the barrier before the whole thing took a nosedive into the water below. Now it was just them and that _other _threat of certain death.

The machines spoke at once. "Casualties may be minimized if the target willfully submits to termination."

An ultimatum. Not really Bison's style. Maybe it was supposed to be some kind of joke. As if Vega cared if there were any casualties when his own life was at stake here. He certainly wouldn't surrender himself in order to save people he didn't even know. How long before police arrived? And would they be smart enough to put bullets in these things the moment they laid eyes on them, or would he have to take a severe beating first? He sighed angrily.

"Andres, don't," he heard Chun-Li say.

"We're kind of backed into a corner here," Guile said, glancing over the side of the bridge and into the water where the car still bobbed. He didn't know what to think of Andres just yet, finding his claims absurd. Chun-Li's explanation was obviously right. But then, how did he know so much about Shadaloo if he wasn't involved with them in some capacity? He had to have done _something _to get Bison's attention, to have him throwing resources at him like this, tearing up two different cities to find him. Whatever he knew, it had to be pretty valuable in Bison's eyes, so should he see it as a boon himself? Could he get Andres to spill whatever he knew, and would it be useful? The only way to be certain was to keep him from dying.

"Confirm your decision," the machines said.

Guile glanced over at the target in question. Andres made an obscene gesture at the machines and shouted "_¡Vete al carajo!_" Guile snorted and shook his head. Well, at least he had some gumption and wasn't a useless heap of tears and ineffectual begging right now. Though, he guessed, that might have been a more sensible reaction from someone who knew they might die.

The machines didn't bother with another request or comment. The first bolted towards them, planting a foot in the roof of a passing car who soon after slammed on their breaks. The second machine approached slowly, waiting for its turn. Vega knew there wasn't a very high chance of success here if the others ran off. If he were in their shoes, he definitely would have. Not his problem, not his fight, why bother? He ducked low under the first attack, metal fist slammed into his stomach, breath rushed out of his lungs. Another massive hand took him by the collar, he squirmed away from the knee that would've probably ruptured a kidney if it made its mark. He dropped low again, swept out a leg, the machine fell back. No real success. It flipped backward with one hand planted in the ground, stood upright again, and the second one met him before he could even regain his stance. He was on his back, saw it jump towards him. He rolled away left, regained footing just in time to miss a kick that would've shattered his ribs.

Chun-Li threw herself into the nearest machine, a roundhouse kick to its lower back. It reacted quickly, reached back and took her by the arm. She kicked high, getting it in the face with a sharp cry. It wavered briefly, losing its grip. Just like a person, she decided, the head was a vulnerable spot. It found its balance again, catching her in the back with a fist. She'd never been hit so hard in her life, thought for sure something must've broken as she stumbled forward. Dorai sprang into action. a flurry of lightning-fast kicks sometimes finding their marks. Many of them were blocked, the machine moving much quicker than any human he'd ever fought. Finally, it caught hold of his leg, shoving hard. He flipped back, landed on his feet, and dodged aside just in time to avoid being struck square in the chest.

Guile knew a one-sided fight when he saw one. Even with their advantage in numbers these machines were just too strong. A fist smashed into his arms held up to block, rattling his bones. Vega took that as a chance to strike, bringing his foot towards the tanden engine. In a flash it snatched his ankle, and one handed, threw him into Guile. The two collapsed to the street. Sirens sounded in the distance and for once that sound meant relief.

"Hadouken!"

The machine dashed away at the cry, and turned to find the source of it. Guile snorted at the sight of Ken in his wedding tux, the jacket discarded and the tie a little loose. Ryu was right on his heels in a similar state of readiness, threading his way through the stopped traffic. The machine returned the attack with its own imitation. The projectile struck the vehicle Ken had been standing in front of. The metal crumpled, the car rolled back, and the driver bolted at the next opportunity. Ken dove into action without another word, a hurricane kick taking on the attention of the first machine. The first kick struck, but by the second, it wrapped its arms around Ken's waist and slammed him into the pavement below. Ken would say it smarted, but he really meant it felt like his skull had been cracked open. Trying to focus, he wrapped his legs around the machine's thick neck and managed to flip it over onto its back.

Ryu tried to take a more conservative approach. He faked high and struck low, taking the machine in its stomach. It wobbled, but shoved a knee into his gut. Dorai took the opportunity, slamming his fist into the machine's head. It wobbled again, Chun-Li caught it in the side with a knee. It first grabbed Ryu, and threw him into Dorai. It trapped Chun-Li's leg against its side with an arm, used its free hand to take on her weight, and with one smooth motion, threw her at Ryu and Dorai. She cried out when she hit them, and they all fell in a pile to the pavement.

Sirens wailed nearer now. Vega tried to look for them, but was forced to deal with the immediate threat of death when the machine threw its fist at his head. His brains would've been scattered across all four lanes if he hadn't ducked. He struck out, knuckles meeting the whirring tanden engine. Not hard enough. It only paused for a split-second. Guile tried to get in one of his own powerful kicks, but the machine blocked, shoved, flipped him on his back. Ken came up from behind, jumping into the air, leg drawn back. It ducked away, and Vega covered his head and crouched just in time to miss being on the receiving end of Ken's attack. Vega was seized by the arm, iron grip unrelenting. Panic took over, and he drew a knee up desperately, slamming it into the tanden engine. The machine wobbled, but didn't let go. Another kick, no use. He saw Guile getting up. If the man didn't hurry, he'd be dead. His leg was grabbed, pinned against the machine's stomach, and wasn't this an awkward position to be in? He hopped on one foot, tried to yank his arm, then his leg, free, but failed. The machine let go of his arm, and its hand searched for his throat. He wriggled and squirmed, doing anything he could to avoid its deadly grasp. Some frantic idea took him, and he pushed off the ground with his free leg, getting it around the back of the machines neck, the other still trapped against its side, and he pushed with all he had. It hurt a lot, the awkward position doing him no favors, but he'd rather be in pain than dead.

The machine stumbled forward, Guile's foot met its face with a flash kick. Vega fell to the ground when it lost its grip on him. Unwilling to lose its mark, metallic fingers took him by the shirt, pinning him to the ground. A flying knee from Ken had it on its side. "Ruin my wedding, will ya? Oh, you don't even know-" The threat was interrupted when the machine took his feet out from under him.

"Police!" Guile managed to shout out. The cops had finally shown up, only two cars able to make it to the battlefield that'd broken out on the bridge. The rest were moving through stopped cars, some abandoned, some still holding curious spectators. But those weren't just normal cops, Guile noticed. Their uniforms weren't right. Guns were drawn and searching for a decent shot. Ken was seized suddenly by the neck, and held out as a human shield. He struggled, managing to get one arm free for a brief second before he was held tighter. The other took a second longer, getting Guile by the wrist and throwing him around to serve as a barrier between itself and the line of armed police.

"Surrender your weapons," they ordered in unison.

Ryu wasn't playing their game, and with a cry, threw himself at the nearest one. It fell, pinning Guile's legs beneath it. It was utter chaos, and the police wouldn't ever get a clear shot if they couldn't put some distance between themselves and these machines. Ryu tried to help Guile up, but a foot to his stomach sent him falling back. A shot rang out. The machine twitched and whirred, rolling uselessly on the ground beside Guile. It was left disoriented, motor skills completely obliterated by the bullet through its skull.

The other machine paid little attention to that, keeping an arm tight around Ken's throat. It saw the mistake its partner had made by ineffectively gripping its hostage and allowing him to escape. Ken tried to trip it up by swiping at the back of its legs with his feet, but ultimately failed. It detected the nearby heat signatures of its primary target's associates. The primary target was-

It didn't flinch because it didn't feel pain. Damage was detected, something sharp driving its way into its tanden engine. It lost control of its limbs, and Ken bolted at the first sign of weakness. It tried to turn to face its primary target, but a kick sent it to the pavement. Mission failure. It sent the message back to base, then began to compile a more detailed report before the primary target dropped a chunk of cement onto the processor in its head. Damage critical, system failure.

Vega studied the machine, listening as well as he could for the variety of hums and whirs the different parts made. Like the last gasps of a dying man. He felt blood in his mouth, on his fingers. Satisfied with the dead machine at his feet, he took a breath. He was quite used to being the center of a good deal of attention, but this situation made even him feel a bit rattled. At least a dozen armed and uniformed men were watching and approaching cautiously, shouting out orders for them to stay where they were. He couldn't count the number of cell phones pointed at them, recording the whole altercation. Traffic stretched back along the bridge in both directions. A helicopter could be heard, maybe belonging to some news channel, or more police. Finally, he saw her and her friends, all of them bruised and battered because they'd chosen to help him. Ken pushed himself to his feet, kicking the machine in the head for good measure. Guile was assuring Ryu he was okay. Dorai was playing damage control with the first cop that approached them, still demanding they stay still and keep their hands visible. Worst of all was Chun-Li, staring at him, some mix of horrified and shocked. A look that plainly said she didn't know who he was anymore. And he couldn't place why that made him feel ashamed.

* * *

_thank you for everybody who is reading/reviewing. :)_


	12. Chapter 12

They were dragged back to a police station, but not by police. The others may not have realized it, but for him a familiar face among the officials gave away their real affiliations. The codename she'd gone by in SIN was Crimson Viper, but she wasn't an undercover agent in this reality. She'd given them the name 'Maya Sunee', neglected to mention her place in the CIA, and he wondered if that was even her real name or another piece of cover.

They'd all been separated before being taken away one at a time for interviews. He guessed they didn't want them all colluding on a story and were trying to find the inconsistencies in any sort of lies. He'd seen Ryu and Ken leave through the front, and remembered how this started. Ken's wedding was ruined, but Vega supposed at least he'd have an interesting story to tell for the rest of his life.

Someone eventually came for him. It hadn't taken too long, and he figured the rest of them might not have as much to say about all of this as him. He noticed the pair of men in suits at the end of the hall. Their gloves looked peculiar, but familiar, and he realized what they were. Power suits, like Viper had worn. Were they afraid of an external threat? Or did they think he was going to make a break for it?

The room he ended up in was pretty bare. There was a table with four chairs. A polygraph machine sat on it, another man in a suit stood behind it. Viper leaned in to the table, arms crossed over her chest and she watched him with that ever-critical gaze of hers as he sat in the chair beside her. "You know why you're in here?"

He could've smiled, but thought it might look bad. All business, all the time, did the woman ever relax and play it casual? "I have an idea."

"Enlighten us."

"The androids."

"Think a little harder," she said.

He raised his eyebrows. "The Dolls," he said. Maybe they'd first kept an eye on him after that break in. After all, how many people survived an assassination attempt from them? Dorai made it sound rare, and Vega remembered how fiercely they fought. Much more intense than he'd been able to teach them to be, even if he claimed otherwise.

"Come on. One more," Viper said, holding up a finger.

Did he lie to save himself from being charged with two counts of murder? Even if it was in self-defense, and against known terrorists. Surely that'd keep him from being thrown in prison for the rest of his life. He decided it was best to be honest so they'd have no reason to suspect his more interesting claims. "The pair of dead Shadaloo agents found in Chicago."

"There we go," she said, as if she were goading a child. She took a folder from her partner on the other side of the desk, and opened it. "See, it's _you_ on these nice little cameras around town. Here's one from the Van Buren terminal. Traffic cam at Michigan and Monroe. This guy seems to be chasing you. I wonder why? Some security footage from a shop on Washington makes it look like you guys ended up getting real close in the end, though."

She wouldn't believe him if he told her, but he'd already decided to go with being honest. "Because he's-he _was-_in charge of the Dolls, and they didn't kill me. When they fail, it reflects poorly on him. So he must've been ordered to go after their target to make up for it." It happened to him before. He thought of Cammy and her first failed assassination. He'd never gotten around to cleaning up behind her, because he found her along the way.

"Those Dolls haven't missed a target yet, far as our intelligence tells us," her partner said.

"And our intelligence is _very _good," she added.

"So how did you manage to survive?"

"I gave them the right orders," he said. "You don't speak to them like people. There are specific commands. Greek letters and numbers are used as codes for targets."

"Pretty good for an art teacher."

"Professor," he corrected, just out of spite. Maybe that's what she wanted from him, though.

"So, care to tell us how you figured it all out?"

He inhaled slowly through his nose. She was going to laugh in his face for saying any of this, but if they wanted the truth, he'd tell it. For once. He thought of how ironic it was that he spent so much time lying and everyone took it at face value, but now that he wanted to tell the truth, no one would believe him. Like the boy who cried wolf, only he was crying, 'I'm a terrorist' and everyone was nodding back, 'suuure you are dear'. "I'm a Shadaloo commander. I was promoted to the position of lead assassin several years ago. I take on the most difficult targets, along with reconnaissance, espionage, sabotage. The Dolls were my responsibility to train and as such, I was taught how to address them in Bison's code."

"Who was the guy you killed, because that sounds like his job," Viper said.

There was no good reason to beat around the bush. Either they'd believe him or not. "I've lived an alternate version of events. In my reality, I am the commander, I joined Shadaloo, and I trained the Dolls. In this reality, I did none of these things. I continued my education. I became a professor. I never killed anyone." It felt odd to say it, and not just because of how outlandish he knew it'd sound to them. It made a normal life sound possible. But why would he even want that? "So, naturally, if I did not fill that role, someone had to. And that is the man I killed."

"Mm. Interesting take on things, I guess." She looked again at her folder, and raised her eyebrows a little. "Says here you were diagnosed two years ago with some psychiatric problems."

"I can't vouch for the truth of what I don't know."

"So when did you take over your other self's life?" she asked, making it clear she was humoring him.

"Two weeks ago." He thought about it and it seemed so far away. Like he'd been trapped here forever. Why had he played along like this? What had he gained? "I was at a bar in New York. I blinked and I was in an apartment in Chicago."

"Meshes pretty neatly with when those Dolls came after you. Says here that your condition can be exacerbated by stress, and I'd call being marked for death a pretty big stressor."

"Why was I marked for death if I'm just insane?" he challenged. "It would make little sense for Shadaloo to waste resources on someone who wouldn't be taken seriously for anything he might say about them."

"That's the big question, isn't it?" Viper said, and crossed her arms over her chest. "What does Shadaloo find so threatening about you that they've sent _seven _different people to kill you? So you've got Bison scared about something, don't you? What could it be?"

"I identified one of his high-ranking officials," he said.

"That official was...?"

"Balrog...or, rather, what _is _that idiot's name?" he mumbled under his breath. He always went by Balrog, some nickname he'd earned in the ring or something. "I think Mike, Mike something."

"Well, why did you approach Mike Something? If you work with Shadaloo, shouldn't they have welcomed you back? Or shouldn't you have known it'd be a huge risk for you to talk to this man?"

He shook his head. "I told you, I'm not from this reality. I recognized him as familiar, and thought that Bison could help me figure out what happened. Instead, they didn't know me, and I became marked as a threat to security. This threat only became more dire as I thwarted their attempts to kill me."

"So you know Shadaloo. But Shadaloo doesn't know you," she clarified.

He nodded.

"One of your friends says you know about Bison's alleged secret weapon. His weak spot he doesn't want anyone to know about." Guile or Dorai must've said that. "They say you claim to know where it is."

"I don't claim, I know," he said. "It can be destroyed just the same as anything else, and it will force Bison to take on a less powerful form."

"Right," she said, but didn't sound convinced. "Okay Mister Art Teacher. Draw me a picture." He watched as her partner handed her a transparency sheet. A map was printed on it, he realized. A part of Thailand. "Show us where it is." She laid the sheet on the table, and set a marker beside it. He studied it for a minute. The geographical features were there, the distance to the nearest city marked, the latitude and longitude grid laid over it. There were the foothills of the mountains Shadaloo was set near. A tributary from a nearby river. "Lay it out for us. You show us what Shadaloo looks like-information not exactly available to the public-and we'll see if you really know what you're talking about, or if your dosage needs adjusting."

He pressed his lips together, but did as she asked. If it helped his case, then fine. It wasn't exact by any means, but he knew the place well enough to know where all the buildings were. He labeled them just to further show he wasn't lying. When it all looked right to him, he circled the one that housed the psycho drive, and slid the sheet back over to her. A lot of things here were different from what he considered reality but he had to hope this is something that hadn't changed significantly. She glanced at it before handing it back to her partner. Vega watched the man as he flipped through a different folder, and laid the transparency down over some satellite image. "Pretty good," the man said.

"What do you say then?" Viper asked, looking back at him.

"Either we have a leak we don't know about, or he really knows his stuff." The man shrugged. "I can't figure how else he'd know this. It's kept under pretty tight wraps."

"No room for coincidences?"

The corner of the man's lip went up and he said, "Maybe if he'd just gotten one or two right. But they're all right. I'm inclined to believe him, given this, his surviving an encounter with the Dolls, and the fact that it wouldn't make sense for Bison to send those androids if this guy doesn't really know something valuable."

So that was half the show, he thought. But maybe the guy was really gullible, or easily impressed. He knew Viper wasn't, and she raised an eyebrow at him. "Well congrats. But don't celebrate just yet," she said. "One more test for you." She jerked her thumb back at the polygraph. He wasn't nervous. He knew if they were taking such measures as this, it meant someone was finally thinking about believing him. Someone who had the means to actually make his goal of destroying the psycho drive a reality. He kept himself composed as they hooked it up. Didn't want to give them a reason to doubt him.

"Okay, let's see what you've got here," Viper muttered, eyes sweeping over her list of questions one final time before returning to him. "We're going to be asking you some control questions first. Is your name Andres Quesada Navarro?"

"Yes."

"Is the sky blue?"

"Yes."

"Do dogs have four legs?"

"Yes."

She crossed her arms in front of her, one hand still gripping her script. "Do you work for the terrorist organization Shadaloo?"

"Yes." It felt terribly wrong to be admitting that while strapped to a polygraph test, but this was his best chance at survival now.

"Are you a ranking officer there?"

"Yes."

"Did your mother Mireia Navarro die of cancer?"

"Why are you asking me that?" The question came out sharper than he'd intended, but it took him by surprise. Of course these people would've dug up everything they had on him for this, so he should've expected personal questions.

"Yes or no," she demanded.

"No."

"Did your father, Sergi Quesada, die in a car wreck?"

"I don't know," he said, irritated with the reminder. The man had abandoned him and his mother, and for all he knew, was living it up somewhere else. Maybe he'd found a new family, maybe he'd just never been interested in having one to begin with. Whatever the case, all he knew was that he hated the man for what he'd done to his mother. He could live without a father but it'd been plain that she couldn't live well without her husband. "He left when I was about five years old. I don't know anything about him."

She glanced back at the guy marking the results of the test. They seemed to communicate through some vague body language he couldn't pick up on. Maya didn't ask him again. "Have you been diagnosed with a psychotic disorder?"

Maybe they were just going to believe that he was delusional after all. "No," he said.

"Do you know the specific location of Shadaloo's secret weapon, the so-called 'psycho drive'?" He wanted to laugh at the way she said it. Like the notion of it alone was ridiculous, made only worse by its absurd name.

"Yes."

"Do you know how to destroy the psycho drive?"

"Yes." He'd witnessed it happen before. Enough explosives will do anything in.

"Are you willing to assist the United States government in an operation designed to locate and destroy the psycho drive?"

"Yes." Anything to put a stop to the threats directed at him by this version of Bison. Even if it just delayed Bison's return, it might be enough to save him in the long run.

"Alright," Viper said. She closed her folder and set it back on the table. "We're done here."

"When will I learn whether or not you believe me?" he asked. Every second mattered and he couldn't know how much time he had left before something else came after him.

"Give us a minute to look over the results here," she nodded back at the paper with its cryptic wiggling lines and pen marks. "We've got one last interview with your girlfriend. Then we'll go from there."

He stood up. How much faith should he invest in that test? And what would Chun-Li have to say about all of this? Given her reaction in the car, she still persisted with the idea that he was just sick. So what if that led to these agents agreeing with her? Surely those who were delusional believed their own lies with enough sincerity to pass one of these tests. Was there any way to show them he really knew what he was talking about? He caught a glimpse of the phone clipped to Maya's belt loop, and he said, "Miss Sunee, how is Laura?"

Her fierce eyes were on his in a second, but she'd always been one who held her cards close to her chest. "She's just fine," she said evenly, no sign of shock or surprise.

"She's eight years old now, isn't she?"

"Yes."

"That's nearly as long as you've been in the CIA."

She nodded, lips pressed together in a thin line. They hadn't told him they were with the CIA, still operating under the guise of local detectives or police.

He smiled but it wasn't a friendly one. "Just something to think about while you analyze your test," he said. Maybe the information wasn't particularly impressive. He hadn't gotten a chance to learn much about her, but this version of himself shouldn't have had any way of knowing her work, her name, her daughter. Maybe it would be enough to get their attention, to show that he wasn't just some nut. He left the room and decided he'd done just about everything he could to convince them.

He was told to go to a room down the hall and wait for them to get back to him. But when he caught a glimpse of Chun-Li sitting alone in an otherwise empty room along the way, he decided to take a chance. He glanced back down the hall, and didn't see anyone. So he opened the door.

She glanced up, but she didn't smile. People like her were sort of a fascinating mystery to him. They could display their emotions so freely to anyone and not bother with hiding. "I thought we had to stay separated until they interviewed all of us?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Perhaps. But there's too much at risk for me to not talk with you about this." Her eyes drifted down, and the corner of her lip went up. Like she was ashamed of him. "You have to tell them you believe me."

"I can't do this again," she said quietly, still not looking at him. "You're just like you were when-" She stopped herself, pressing her lips tightly together.

"It doesn't matter how I was. You need to pay attention, and do what I'm telling you or they won't stop coming until I'm dead."

"I don't know what to do," she said, finally looking back up at him. Again there was a kind of desperation there, something he hated to see in her. "Do I believe you? Do you just need help? It's the same thing all over again. Like when you were convinced that someone killed her. Some man, Ferdinand or-"

"Fernando Ramirez," he said slowly. Why did she know that if his mother had never remarried?

"You even admitted after you were well again that you didn't know him and he didn't know you. That you didn't know why you thought he killed her. You said at the time, though, that you were so certain he'd done it, that you'd seen him shoot her. Even though she'd been sick for nearly a year, you were convinced he'd murdered her, and no one could talk you out of it. You wouldn't sleep, barely ate, you were out at weird hours, and you kept going on about getting even with him. You broke into his home and threatened him. Everything was such a mess, and I thought we were fixing it. I thought you were okay again. Now it just feels like we're back at square one." She stopped for a moment to glance over at him, and he didn't look back.

It was an unsettling overlap in his reality and this one. Or maybe he was sick after all. Maybe his mother hadn't ever been murdered. Maybe he'd just needed someone to blame her sickness on and picked that man as a scapegoat. "No," he said quickly and severely. This was just going to confuse him more. "It really happened to me. Fernando Ramirez murdered my mom right in front of me, and then he tried to kill me next! You think I don't know my own life? You think I don't remember years of living with that fucking animal harassing me all the time? Trying to show me who was boss? Don't try to make me look crazy!"

She was quiet at his outburst, but didn't flinch. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"Say you believe me."

"I believe that you are ill. I believe that when your mom died, I saw you fall to pieces and turn into an awful, bitter, angry person who I could barely stand, but who I fought tooth and nail to help because I loved you. And I believe I might be watching it happen all over again, and I can't stand it. I can't stand that I'm at a complete loss as to how to help you because I can't even get you to talk to me. I love you and I want you to be happy. But it's so hard, because you don't understand how to deal with loss." For a second, she buried her face in her hands before looking back up at him. "You're such a spoiled brat, Andres. You are. That doesn't mean you aren't a good person. But you've always been able to get what you want, whether it was just handed to you, or you worked for it, so when something didn't go your way, when you couldn't get what you wanted, you lost it, because no one ever taught you how to take no for an answer, how to deal with the fact that you can't make things go the way you want them to all the time."

He shook his head at her. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"No, _you _don't, because you are the _least _objective person on the planet when it comes to seeing yourself. You're either the biggest piece of shit on Earth, or you're genius incarnate. You've got problems_. _And you know, everyone does. But the worst thing you can do is pretend they don't exist. Your mother is dead. Okay? She's dead. It happened, and I'm _sure_ it hurt. I'm _sure_ you felt dead too because you loved her so much. Mourning her is one thing, but what good are you doing yourself by jumping in the grave with her? What do you stand to gain by obsessing over this for the rest of your life? You have to figure out how to move on instead of throwing yourself into these bizarre fantasies that are going to get you arrested or killed. You have to accept that it wasn't something you could prevent, it wasn't something you could change, and it wasn't _your _fault_._ You did what you could for her. But you can't control everything, you can't bend the world to your will, and I don't think you'll ever get better until you learn that."

"You don't know a god damned thing," he said. "I don't even know you!" He stopped and laughed, and she looked a bit bewildered. "I know that I hate you, that's what I know."

"Why?"

"Because-" he stopped for just a second. He pictured himself grabbing hold of her by her face, hand covering her mouth, and caving in the back of her skull against the wall. Didn't she deserve that for saying all of this to him? Didn't she deserve that for confusing him and making him question himself? "Because you're stronger than me." He spat the words out, his chest felt tight, why was he admitting this to her? "You're better than me. The standard to judge everything by, the proof of all my failures." He felt suddenly sick and he wanted to hurt her for making him feel that way. "You have your loss, and you turn it into your mission, just like me, to repair the world that could let such a tragedy befall you. Only, when _you _do it, people support you. They agree with you. You gain everything back. And sometimes, you take it right from under me."

"What are you talking about?" She was completely confused, and wasn't even trying to hide it. She wasn't going to placate him anymore, but she couldn't quite piece together what he was trying to say.

"Cammy!" He hadn't said her name in a while, and he suddenly felt like such a coward for abandoning her to Bison. She wasn't meant to be trapped like that but he'd been too self-involved to think of her, what she might be suffering now, left to rot in Shadaloo with no one to look after her. No one to ever tell her how to see the beauty in things. And wasn't that such a tragedy, for someone to be so beautiful and not even know what it meant? "The first person I've cared about in God knows how long, and you took her away. Maybe you knew I was going after this one thread of happiness and nothing would have satisfied you more than to sever it, so you did! There-you win!"

He left the room because he couldn't stand to look at her after admitting all of that. He wasn't supposed to care about being alone, because no one else was worth his time. If Cammy refused him, it shouldn't bother him. Having no one meant nothing could be taken from him, and that was what made a person strong. Then why did it hurt so much to think of her? The horror on her face when she found out who he was? The anger flashing through her eyes when she realized what role he'd played in her past? Was it really Chun-Li who'd taken her from him, or-

"Andres." God damn it all, was she going to follow him? Rub his nose in his own shit like a poorly behaved dog? She just had to be certain he knew she was still better than him, the one constant throughout every version of his life, he supposed. He jerked his arm away when she tried to take hold of his wrist. "Wait, okay?"

He did. It was plain she wasn't going to leave him alone.

"I want to understand what's happening," she said. "Why don't you tell me what's going on?"

He felt a smile forming. Vicious and sardonic and full of hate. "What would I know? I'm just insane."

"I'm not stupid, okay?" she said, teeth gritted in frustration as she yanked him towards her. "You think I don't know something's different about you, some fundamental aspect of your personality is wrong? I'm not oblivious, but you know, what do you want me to say? That I think you're from another universe or something? Do you understand how absurd that sounds? You've been sick before, so why is this so different?"

He didn't care how it sounded, because it was true. He wasn't, couldn't be insane. A perfect mind didn't malfunction, and he was still perfect, wasn't he? He was still capable and competent-no, _better _than competent. He could fix all of this if they'd just let him. Perfect people didn't fail, they didn't make mistakes. "Pay attention. You have two options," he said and his voice was a low and dangerous whisper. "You let me do this. You tell them you believe me, that something is so different, and I get to go on and stop all of this at the source. No one bothers you again and maybe one day that guy you love will come back home to you. Or, you don't let me do this. You say, 'he's insane, and dangerous, and has to be stopped'. They lock me up, I'm trapped and in a prime position to be picked off by the next pair of killers he decides to throw at me, and you never see Andres again."

She stared back at him, considering what he'd said. It felt wrong to accept any of it, but all of it _was _wrong. The way he spoke to her, the way he talked about this alternate life and what about all of the things he'd done that he shouldn't be able to? How had he known how to stop those women who'd come to kill them? How was he so proficient in a fight when he admitted to only ever having thrown a punch in a schoolyard brawl when he was a kid? How did he know so much about Shadaloo? Was this man really some stranger trapped in her partner's body? How was she supposed to accept something as bizarre as that? And worst of all, could she ignore that he was probably right about what would happen if he was considered ill enough to require hospitalization? He _would _be trapped, and wouldn't that be convenient for these people trying to kill him? "This can't be real," she said finally, trying to muster up some conviction. But to her own ears, her voice just sounded weak.

"It is," he said. "You have to make this decision, and make the right one. Tell them you believe me, even if you don't. Tell them this isn't just some kind of illness. Tell them I'm not the person you fell in love with."

The words were somehow disheartening and reassuring all at once. Maybe it didn't make her so horrible to feel how she did now. This wasn't Andres, because Andres loved her and she loved him. He was kind, fun, caring, warm. He was supposed to tease her about drinking tea or enthusiastically tell her about some new idea he had for a piece because of some conversation they'd had. He'd say 'you're the artistic genius and I am just the vessel to express it through' or something silly like that. He was supposed to wake her up in the middle of the night when he reached for her, half-awake, and pull her a little closer to him so she could pretend it annoyed her even if it really made her heart flutter like it did when they'd just met. When he kissed or touched her, it wasn't supposed to be like he was playing a part, or some vicious show of dominance. There was supposed to be love there, and this person-whoever he was-was right. It wasn't there anymore.

Tears were stinging at her eyes as she thought about how much she missed him, the him she'd known for years, and she blinked quickly to try to get rid of them. "Yeah," she said finally, wishing for all the world he'd come back now. Wishing that those eyes that regarded her with cold disinterest would melt back to being warm and concerned, that he'd say, 'oh, _mi querida_, what's wrong?' like he usually did and pull her tightly to his chest. She needed that pretty badly now, with all this confusion and chaos. She nodded slowly, trying not to show how upset she was because she knew this man-whether it _was _just Andres but sick, or was someone different altogether-didn't care. "Maybe you're right."

"I am."

She glanced up at him. "What happened to-" she started to ask, but she didn't quite know how to say it. After all, she wasn't even sure whether she believed it or not. "Where's-"

"I don't know," he said and it was almost painful for her to hear him talk. Maybe she had been the delusional one after all. Convincing herself that this wasn't a completely different person, trying to tell herself that he'd come around. He was just down and that happened to people sometimes. He'd come back up and he'd be like he was again. But that wasn't true, was it? She'd tried so hard to make herself think that, but his voice, his eyes, the way he spoke, even little mannerisms, they'd all changed and she'd refused to notice.

"I hope-" No, this was too hard. "I don't know what I'll do if you-if he doesn't come back." She couldn't hold back her tears but she managed to not sob like a child. What she'd give for him to offer any kind of comfort right now. But he didn't. He just watched, almost impatiently, she thought. She took his hand and he didn't really react and that only made her want to cry harder. She was looking for something that just wasn't there anymore and she didn't know if she could accept that or not. She threw her arms around him, and she heard him sigh like this was a nuisance. She took a deep breath to try to stop herself. "Can't you, please, just-" she started to ask.

"No," he said. "I don't love you." It was just a statement of fact from him, but it tore her apart. This wasn't the person she loved. This was a stranger. But it was _his _voice saying words she never wanted to hear. "Maybe he does," he said while she bit her tongue. "But I don't know how to change this."

She pulled away from him. It was awkward and uncomfortable to try to make him show her affection. "Who are you?" she asked. A reminder that he wasn't her friend.

"I'm him, but...different," he said. "We're enemies."

"That's a dramatic way to put it," she said angrily, swiping at her eyes. She was suddenly embarrassed to cry in front of this person, whoever he was.

"It's a dramatic way that we live," he said simply.

"How can you be so different from him if you're-" How was she supposed to ask it? "I mean, you're just so-you're heartless. You're cold and strange and-You scare me." The phrase 'wolf in sheep's clothing' came to mind, and she'd never seen a more apt situation to apply it to.

"Good," he said. "Then we're on the right track." Finally, he did touch her, but it only made her feel worse. His hand rested on her cheek, and he brushed away her tears with his thumb. She pictured him twisting her head around and snapping her neck. "If you don't want to be afraid anymore, tell them what I told you to say. Tell them who I am, but more importantly, tell them who I'm not."

Looking him in the eyes felt like looking death in the face. His was a voice like ice and a touch that somehow felt more like a threat than a comfort. How had she fooled herself for so long? This person _was _sick, but in an entirely different, frightening way that she didn't know how to deal with. She nodded slowly and he smiled. She'd give him what he wanted. Not just because it might be the only way to get Andres back, but because she feared what this man might do if she didn't.


	13. Chapter 13

How long had they all been kept here, trapped by these CIA agents, waiting for permission to leave? He'd decided not to press his luck by trying to escape. The possibility of getting help from them was too close to risk losing it with a foolish decision like that. He didn't know what might be waiting for him outside. So he tried to be patient, stuck here along with the others deemed too 'informed' to leave. That meant only Ken and Ryu were allowed out of here. Guile was wandering the building somewhere, probably trying to throw around his military rank in an attempt to expedite their release. Chun-Li and her father were speaking to each other out in the hall and he didn't care to imagine what that conversation must've been like. He hoped that she'd made the right decision when speaking with Viper.

He opened his eyes when he heard something hit the table in front of him. "Oh, sorry Sleeping Beauty, did I wake you?" His lip twitched a bit at the permanently sarcastic tone. Didn't the woman ever take a break from being completely miserable to be around?

"Perfectly fine," he said. His eyes wandered down to the folder she'd dropped onto the table, then back up to her. She was lighting a cigarette, and raised her eyebrows at him as an offer. "Isn't it illegal to smoke in here?"

"Think they'll arrest me?" she whispered, faking a vague concern. She turned away to exhale in the other direction. At least she allowed for some basic courtesy. "My partner thinks you're a plant. That Bison _wants _someone to lead us into his den so he can massacre us." Right down to business. That much about her was agreeable. Better than her wasting his time with small talk.

"Quite an idiotic plan for an alleged mastermind." He crossed his arms and she kept quiet, letting him explain further. "If I were a plant, why would he risk my dying when sending all of these delightful...individuals after me? Is it really worth putting on such a display when he could instead have me pretend I'm an escaped prisoner? A soldier who has defected? Something along those lines to better explain why I know what I do, and why I'm willing to share it with you."

She nodded slowly. "Maybe. But look at it this way. You waltz in here, Shadaloo's most wanted apparently. You talk at me like you know me, like you know my daughter." She took another drag and sighed on exhale. "That's where I'm snagged. Why do you know all of that? What else do you know about who I really am?"

He watched the pale tendrils of smoke as they rose up towards the ceiling in random curls and spirals. "In my reality, I worked with you briefly."

"Thought you said you were a Shadaloo assassin."

He smiled at her apparent assumption that she could never be a criminal. "I was. However, Bison's reign was challenged when one of the machines he engineered to be his replacement body gained self-awareness." That'd be the second time that happened to the man. First Cammy, then Seth. Nothing seemed to work out for Bison. Maybe because it was all going smoothly here. Some cross-dimensional balance was necessary, maybe. Be all too successful in one universe at the expense of your alternate self in another. He pressed his lips together at the thought. So what did that idea say about him? "This led to a separate faction splitting from Shadaloo. You were sent to monitor them from within by the CIA. I was sent to sabotage it by Bison. We both had our parts to play and they tended to dovetail nicely."

She was unreadable, but that was par for the course. "Did we win?"

"'We' did not do anything. Our actual objectives were a bit different than the roles we cast ourselves into for SIN. On assignments, yes, 'we' won. Often. I pretended never to notice that you didn't actually kill anyone during our work, because I didn't particularly worry over SIN's success. The point was to end it, after all."

"But we made it out in the end."

"Clearly," he said, shrugging his shoulders. He was here, after all. "You completed your mission, if you're wondering."

"Well, yeah, I've got a reputation to uphold, no matter what, uh, dimension or whatever." She let her cigarette fall to the ground and snubbed it out with the toe of her shoe. Some little thing was itching at the back of his mind, something that didn't feel quite right. But what had, in these tumultuous few weeks? Part of him tried to follow that nagging feeling to its source, to find out what the problem was. Part of him tried to ignore it and pay attention to Viper. Her hands sank into the pockets of her pants, thumbs hooked into her belt loops. "So, let's say we take you seriously. Do you have some kind of plan?"

"Perhaps. But then, I'm not going to share it with those who don't want to involve me."

"Drive a hard bargain." She shrugged. "What if we say we'll let you go on our top secret, highly classified, high risk, kind of illegal, mission? You, a civilian from another country, with no official links to the US government, any kind of military experience, anything that gives us any good reason to allow you on board?"

"Then I suppose I'd want to ensure my success and share my plans for achieving that."

"Have you 'shared' this plan with anyone else?" He shook his head. "So what if I'm lying and we just leave you here so we don't catch the fallout for being the reason a school teacher is dead in the middle of a terrorist warzone?"

"Well then I think what I'd do is find the roster for your mission, find the man who is closest to me in terms of build and height, kill him, dump him in the Puget Sound, and take his place." She kept eye contact, still blank. He remembered another reason he disliked being around her. He didn't like people he couldn't read. "This entire thing is much too important for me to allow a possibility for failure, and I _know _that if I don't go, there will be failure."

After a moment of tense silence, she made a sort of huffing noise. "That poor girlfriend of yours wasn't kidding, was she." The sentence was muttered under her breath, as if not really for him to hear. But then, maybe she'd done that intentionally. He struggled with himself for a moment over the proper reaction. To ask what she meant was to possibly be dancing on her strings. But the curiosity was getting to be too much for him.

"What, exactly, did she say?"

Viper cocked her head and he knew from that gesture that he'd done exactly what she wanted. "Oh, you know. He doesn't put the toilet seat down, takes up too much of the bed, forgets to take out the trash." He sighed heavily and let his eyes wander to the ceiling, impatient with the way she drew out her little victory. So she'd caught him on her hook and now she had to gloat. "Gets stabbed in brawls with assassins. Moves like a stunt man in a Jackie Chan flick even though he says he's never thrown a punch in his life. Makes her feel scared for her safety. That sort of typical, newly cohabiting couple stuff."

So she'd done it. Chun-Li admitted to them what she hadn't wanted to admit to herself. That he wasn't who she knew and loved, that he was dangerous, someone different. Frightening. Was that what he wanted, for her to be afraid of him? Because that was normal? Normal to who, exactly? He glanced back up at Viper. Her eyes were directed down at her phone.

It didn't matter what anyone here thought of him. The only important thing now was getting to Bison, and putting a stop to these threats at the source. Even if only for a little while. "But you don't seem too bothered about that," she continued after a second or two of silence. She tilted her head as she spoke to him, brushing back the wisps of hair that didn't quite make it into her braid. Light glinted off the small metallic conductors set into the knuckles of her gloves. That's when it started to dawn on him, what that nagging feeling was about. The CIA weren't the ones who'd created the power suit. Was that another change between his reality and this one? Or was the implication forming in his mind about the origin of the suits much worse?

A shriek echoed through the hall outside. Something heavy hit the ground. "I suppose I have much more pressing concerns," he said.

She smiled as she locked her phone and slid it back into her pocket. "I bet you do."

He shoved off the chair with his feet as she dove for him fist-first. Electricity crackled at her knuckles, and the chair he'd been in clattered away noisily. She pivoted on her heel without missing a beat. A cry tore from her throat, the heat of flames tickled his skin as the heel of her shoe narrowly missed the side of his head. He made a grab for the back of her other leg, and she slammed a fist into his chest. His bones seemed to rattle under his skin, he convulsed like a fish out of water, and his vision went black at the edges. He tried to shove her away, but the current of electricity made it nearly impossible to move. It couldn't have been more than a few seconds until she drew her fist back, and he fell to the ground at her feet.

She snorted, and pushed the toe of her shoe into his shoulder. He groaned a little as she rolled him on to his back. "Y-you're supposed-suppose to be-" he tried to say, but found it a bit difficult to speak. "CIA. Not-"

"Looks like you don't know as much as you think you do," she said, watching him as he tried to push himself away from her. Viper squatted beside him and took a handful of his hair, forcing eye contact. "Oh, and, ah, next time, you might want to avoid using my daughter as a threat. Tends to make me...a little agitated," she said. Her fist sank into his stomach, and again he shuddered as she let him have another couple hundred volts. When she drew her hand away, he went limp immediately. "Asshole," she muttered and stood up straight.

The door to the room opened, and measured footsteps followed. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, he's down," she all but snapped, irritated with the implication that she couldn't handle this on her own. "What about the other three?"

"Same," the other agent said. Someone else shuffled in next, dragging someone by her arms and dumping her unceremoniously on the floor. Viper let her lip curl at the rough treatment. Like the woman needed a concussion on top of an electrical shock.

"How long until the pick up?" she asked. She wanted to believe the four targets would stay unconscious long enough, but knew the world was full of surprises. Especially in her line of work.

"Ten minutes."

"Good." The sooner these people were off of her hands, the better. Her coworkers could only keep the cops from sniffing around for so long. Another pair of shuffling feet, another unconscious body dragged into the room. "I want the place scrubbed thoroughly. Any recordings, tests, files, papers. I've got to get these falsified reports in place, ASAP. He's really sensitive about this one, so don't screw it up, or it's all of our asses on the line."

"Don't have to tell me twice," the guy muttered, glancing at the last target being pulled across the ugly linoleum floor from the hall outside. "Big guy. Hope he stays down."

Viper smirked. "Where they're going, they're not going to want to wake up anyway." She took one last look around the room to ensure all her ducks were in a row. Four bodies. One folder full of bullshit in hand. She wasn't sure what the deal was with this Spanish guy claiming to be from another dimension was. But then, she didn't make a habit of sticking her nose into her boss's work. Not with the weird things he did. She just knew this was her assignment, and she never failed to meet a goal.

* * *

He coughed and he thought he tasted blood. What the hell had happened? Where was he? The ground was cold. He thought he vaguely remembered some kind of movement-a car. Or had it been an airplane? Hadn't he seen the tops of clouds? What did that suggest about his current location? Was his family okay? He licked his dry lips, and pushed himself off the floor. It was kind of dim, but not dark. No windows. Single door. And-

"Oh, you son of a bitch," he said in a low, grizzled voice. His throat was raw and dry, and it was painful to talk, but he didn't care. He was much too angry to let a sore throat stop him. Andres, his apparent cellmate, sat with his back to the opposite wall, elbows resting on his knees, completely unreadable save for the fact that he looked a little pissed off. But then, to Guile he always had that kind of asshole-ish look about him, so it didn't say much as to what was going on in his head. "What'd you get us into, huh? Where are we?"

"Yelling at me won't put you any closer to freedom," he said, still not looking him in the eye.

"Yeah, well it'll make me feel better," Guile answered. He gave an agitated sigh before looking over the room again. Two dirty blankets on the ground on opposite sides of the small room. Not even a mattress or pillow or anything in here. A bucket in the corner that he didn't really want to speculate the purpose of. "Where are we?" he demanded again.

"Shadaloo," Andres answered, still no hint of fear or irritation or much of anything to show what his expectations were.

"How did we end up here?"

"Viper."

He squinted and made a wordless noise that made it clear he didn't understand what that meant. Andres sighed and let his head roll back against the wall, eyes now opting to rove the ceiling instead of the floor. "Yeah, I get it, you know everything," Guile said, waving a hand and demanding some elaboration.

"One of the CIA agents. That is, I thought she was one." He snorted and shook his head. "Where I come from, she was a double-agent. CIA posing as a terrorist. Now it's apparently the opposite."

"Great instincts, buddy."

"You're right, why didn't I do a better job at speculating the affiliations of people I barely know, in an alternate universe? What a fool I was."

"Don't cop an attitude with me, alright? You're the reason we're in this mess!" Guile drew a hand over his face and let it rest over his mouth. He tried to think of whatever he could remember before blacking out. There was the interview with the cops about the situation on the bridge. A lot of questions about Andres. He should've noticed how much they asked about what the guy allegedly knew. Very little interest in the giant mechanical men beating the shit out of six people at once on a highway in the middle of Sunday afternoon traffic. But then, why wouldn't people want to hear about someone who claimed to know Bison's weak points? No, this wasn't on him. There was no way he could've predicted the people questioning them were working with Shadaloo. After the interview, he'd been requested to stay, while Ryu and Ken were allowed to leave. Weren't Dorai and Chun-Li still detained, too? He sighed again, upset with the idea of his friends suffering the same fate he was now. "They have Dorai and Chun-Li, don't they?"

"I have no way of being completely certain from here, but I'd suppose so, yes."

"What a great guy you turned out to be," Guile said. He laughed, a bitter, sarcastic noise and he saw Andres flinch. "She trusted you, you know, and this is the thanks she gets. One way trip to a terrorist prison camp."

An altercation was the last thing he expected, or needed, but Andres threw himself at Guile without a word. A jolt of pain rushed from the point on his jaw where Andres's knuckles met his face. Pretty decent punch for a guy who'd told him he wasn't much of a fighter, but then, that inconsistency had already been well-established. So Guile shoved his knee into the man's stomach and listened for that satisfying sort of gasping noise that meant the air in his lungs had just rushed out. He followed up with a punch of his own, sure it'd leave him seeing stars. "Don't you take your anger out on me! I didn't tell you to get us all trapped in here!"

"If you all would've left me alone-!"

"That's just not what a friend does!" Guile said, astounded at how oblivious this guy managed to be. "You get that through your thick skull already! She loves you, for whatever God-forsaken reason, and she wants to help you! Now I know a thing or two about being a stubborn asshole, but you're ahead by leaps and bounds here and I'm out of my depth." He rubbed his jaw where he'd been punched, and laughed. "Instead of thanking your lucky stars that someone as good and kind and sweet as Chun-Li _allowed _you to be anywhere near her, much less loved you, you get wound up in some-" He waved his hand at their new, barren home and shook his head. "I don't even know what to call it. You chose this over her and I can't think of anything more screwed up than that."

"I didn't choose this," Andres snapped, and Guile wasn't sure he'd ever heard such a vicious tone from anyone in his life. "I didn't choose to be kidnapped, I didn't choose to become a target, I didn't choose to be with her. I was dragged here, against my will, into this life, and I want _nothing _to do with it."

"Yeah, what a downer it must be, comfortable little life like this. Loving girlfriend, stable-_legal_-job in a field you enjoy, yeah, damn, sorry you had to suffer through that." He wasn't sure yet that he believed all of that stuff, making it even more difficult to sympathize.

Andres let out a frustrated cry, balling his hands into fists. "You-It's-That's an oversimplification and you know it!"

"Okay, what was so great about your old life? You know, the one where you claim to be a murderer working for the biggest piece of crap on God's green Earth?" Guile watched as an impressive array of emotions fought for control of the other man's face in the span of a few tense and silent seconds. But no kind of refutation came, and Guile snorted. "Yeah, that's what I thought. If you are who you claim you are, then I get it. You people are all the same. Selfish little scumbags who'd do anything for a buck. Nothing sacred, not even a person's life. Or, you're the especially pathetic variety. Probably got dumped on at some point in your life and decided that meant it was okay to trample all over everybody else, like you're the only one who ever had something bad happen to him." He shook his head. "What a joke."

"Don't talk to me that way," Andres said, like he meant it as a warning but Guile laughed.

"What're you going to do, kill me? Like that's _not _what's going to happen to us in here any day now? Great threat."

Andres cocked his head and in a clearly mocking tone, said, "Yeah, well, it'll make me feel better."

"You don't have the guts," Guile said. A small part of him knew he should've calmed down, that getting worked up wasn't going to help their situation. But another part of him had run away with the idea of teaching Andres a much-deserved lesson. He'd felt like something was off about the other man from day one, and was glad to see that at least his instincts were still pretty sharp. He just wished he'd been able to convince Chun-Li to see it sooner.

"I think I'd be doing you a favor."

"You need to shut up, before-"

"Before what? You Americans are all the same, savage little monsters that don't know how to solve their problems through any means but force."

And that was all she wrote, for Guile, at least. Maybe in other circumstances, such a snide remark wouldn't have bothered him as much. But there was already so much he disliked about this person, and the situation they were in was already so stressful. He couldn't even bring himself to care that he was confirming exactly what Andres was saying by reacting violently to his taunting. For a few seconds, all that mattered was shutting him up.

Andres ducked the first blow, which was probably for the best. Guile's fist smashed into the wall and he thought maybe the skin at his knuckles had split. "Can't you do better than that?" Andres said. Guile swung again, and missed again. "You aren't very good at this," Andres said, shaking his head and standing up. He glanced around, seemed almost to be looking for something before moving slightly towards the center of the room, his back to the door.

Guile stood up and shook out his hand. "I think I'll change your mind!" He lunged, and caught Andres around the waist. They hit the door hard and it rattled noisily. "Not so quick now, you son of a bitch!"

"Quicker than your friend Charlie-" Andres didn't get to finish the sentence, his whole world spinning for a brief second when Guile's fist connected with the side of his head.

"You shut your damn mouth!" Guile took hold of him by the collar and slammed him into the door again for good measure.

"Make me!" Andres cried like a petulant kid. He covered his head in time to avoid taking the full force of another heavy punch. Guile's other fist came up next, and Andres narrowly avoided it. Another loud, rattling noise shook the door. "I'm right in front of you and you _still _can't hit me?"

"When I'm done with you, you won't be able to see straight for a month!"

"Clearly you can't, ever, it's the only way to explain your hair-" Another wordless and angry cry from Guile was followed by a hard kick this time. He missed again, but all the noise they were making had finally attracted some attention. He was still in too much of a blind rage to notice at first, but someone had called out a warning from the other side of the door. "Or maybe you are such a devoted father you let your daughter pick that style for you? It seems like something a five year old would decide on."

"Don't even mention her you asshole!" Another kick rattled the heavy door. It only frustrated him more that he seemed almost incapable of hitting the guy in spite of their close quarters. Andres was quick, but he couldn't keep it up forever. Another pair of punches proved that, with one slamming again into the door and the other making its mark in his target's side.

"Step back!" a voice demanded from outside. It was the first time Guile had noticed it, and he glanced at Andres as if to make sure he hadn't just been hearing things. Andres mouthed some words that looked suspiciously similar to 'you are so stupid' and Guile gritted his teeth at that smug, awful smile that followed. The heavy door swung open, and a pair of men stood at the threshold, guns raised in warning. "Break it up, now!" one demanded.

"I don't feel safe in here with him," Andres said, raising his hands and lacing his fingers behind his head.

Guile followed his example, but wasn't going to let the other man lay the blame for this on him. "Bullshit, you started it!"

"Your mother started it by having you." Guile reacted without thinking, yelling angrily as he tackled Andres against the wall. One of the guards tried to separate them, and the small cell was in chaos. Guile elbowed the guy grabbing him, landing a clean blow to his nose. The other one tried to get a hold of Guile, and was met with a knee in his stomach. When Andres made a sudden move, Guile went on the defensive, expecting him to attack. But the whole stupid plan suddenly clicked in his head when he saw the first guard's head snap back from the force of a swift kick. The asshole had been goading him on to get the guards to come in here and break up their fight. It seemed like an absurdly dangerous way to fix their lousy situation, and he didn't really appreciate being left out of the loop, but he had about two seconds to make a decision to tackle and disarm the other guard before he called for back up. So that's what he did. His nice dress shoes weren't as solid and heavy as his combat boots, but the roundhouse kick still connected cleanly with the man's skull.

The second body hit the ground hard, and Guile scooped up his weapon without another thought. He wasn't any stranger to handling guns, and from the looks of it, neither was Andres. He wished he could say he was surprised by that. He glanced at the open door that could take them to freedom, but he felt completely exposed instead of hopeful. How many more patrolmen would be out there? Was this really the best way to try to escape? So much could end up going wrong, or they might be shot dead on sight. But what was there alternative? Andres didn't seem to think twice about it, but it could've just been sheer arrogance on his part. "You know, next time? Not that I hope there's a next time, but you could let me in on your stupid, stupid plan."

"Your reaction wouldn't have been authentic." Andres shrugged, leaning out into the hall and going quiet for a moment. "And...you're easy to manipulate."

"Well, great, so you pissed me off, what a mastermind, way to go. Now what?" He watched as Andres searched the nearest unconscious guard on the floor. He took something from him, a keycard. Guile squatted beside the other guard and dug around in his pockets for the same item. If this alleged former Shadaloo employee thought it was useful, it might be worth having.

"Now we leave."

"Hey, no, Chun-li and Dorai could still be in here!"

Andres sighed as if that were some mildly annoying inconvenience and not the supposed love of his life being in mortal danger. "If our situations were reversed, each of you would easily have left me for dead. What do I owe any of you?"

Guile took hold of him by the collar of his shirt and shoved him against the wall. "We could be caught any second, so I'm gonna keep this short and sweet. You're god damn right I'd leave your ass here. But if you think for a second she'd turn her back on someone being threatened with death, well, then, you clearly don't know her very well."

"Just the same as none of you know me very well."

"Not something you're giving me _any _good reason to regret." He let Andres go. The two glared at each other for a second that felt like hours before Andres finally strode off down the corridor without another word. Guile took a deep breath from the threshold and watched the other man peek around a corner before committing to disappearing around it. So that was that.

He had no idea where to even begin looking for the others, or what kind of odds he was up against. But he knew he couldn't leave them here to die. He moved as quietly as he could out into the corridor lined with locked, windowless doors. No way to see who was inside except to open the doors. Who else might Bison have trapped in this place? Other criminals? Or more innocent people, like himself and Chun-Li and Dorai? If he let each one of these prisoners free in his search for his friends, would they be killed for trying to escape? Or were all of them still wanted alive for something? It was only a matter of time before someone realized what had happened here, and tension was creeping its way into every inch of his body. Was it possible to escape this place? The only way he could know was to try. The other option may have been rotting away in that cell for the rest of his life, however short that may be at this point.

With one hand on his stolen gun and the other on the stolen keycard, he slid it in the next reader, opened the cell door, and hoped for the best.

* * *

Thanks for everybody still paying attention to this absurd story, you're all great and nice :)


	14. Chapter 14

He stuck to the walls of the corridor like glue. The last thing Bison probably expected was for him to go right into the center of operations of the people trying to kill him. But why were there so few guards around? He tried to convince himself it wasn't so unusual, not with Shadaloo now being as large as it was. All of Bison's forces were stretched across a quarter of the largest continent on the planet. So naturally, they couldn't all be here at once.

That didn't really help him feel any less anxious. He heard footsteps around the corner, someone shifting their weight from one leg to the other. Another tapped their foot against the floor. They spoke to each other in Thai, a language he hadn't really managed to master in spite of how much time he spent in the country. One flicked his cigarette onto the ugly linoleum floor. These two men were the last obstacle between him and the next step of the plan. The doors were just beside them. If the others made it out...

Well, it wasn't his problem, just like it wouldn't have been theirs if it were him trapped in there. He had too much at stake to afford dragging them around with him. He had to focus here, to keep his attention on these two men. If he didn't do this right, they'd report his escape and the whole place would know he was wandering Shadaloo freely. Or did they know already? None of this felt right, but it was difficult to gauge anything when it was all so fundamentally different from what he knew. Finger squeezing already against the trigger, he peeked around the corner. One, two, done. The first shot rang out, an awful racket that seemed to echo forever, and the first guard was dead, never saw it coming. It took a second for him to slide to the floor out of his chair. In that time, the other guard had taken the split second he had to aim, but it was already too late. The second shot sounded off just after the first, and he was on the ground beside his coworker.

Vega didn't waste any time, even with how tense he felt returning to this almost complete silence. The gunshots were so loud in contrast, surely someone was aware of what had happened now. But he was another step closer to freedom, and he chose to focus on that. He glanced first at the door as if to reassure himself it was still there, or that no one had opened it to peek inside. Then he leaned over the desk the men had been sitting at. One was completely still, on his back, staring at the ceiling. The other gulped and gasped noisily. What an awful noise that was. He pressed his foot to the man's throat. The dying guard's hand weakly tugged at his leg for a moment before sliding away. Everything was quiet again save for the hum of the electricity.

He looked over their desk for anything useful, and something caught his eye. The thought had struck him as soon as he laid eyes on the list of prisoners, and as far-fetched as it was, he couldn't ignore it. Cammy could be in here, waiting for someone to get her out. If things in this place could be different in any way he could think of, her becoming a prisoner in Shadaloo was one of them. If she needed saving, this was the only opportunity he was going to get.

He pulled the list towards him, a record of everyone currently held in the building. A grid of unfamiliar names and numbers, and he felt suddenly like a patient signing in to a doctor's appointment. He traced over the list with his index finger, finding nothing of Cammy. Maybe she was still a Doll. Could he afford to try to change that? Could he change it if he wanted to? If she was a Doll, Bison's hold over her would be stronger than ever here. Could he expect to free her from that without the influences of Rose and Dhalsim?

A nagging feeling came over him when he finally reached the names at the end of the list. His and the others. If he'd been willing to take a detour for Cammy, why not the rest of them? The answer was simple, even if he didn't want to admit to it. He still cared a great deal for her, and he didn't know if there'd ever come a time when he didn't, whether she'd turned him away or not. But the others? He bit his tongue behind pursed lips, and sighed quietly at himself for the indecision. Since when was it his job to save his enemies? Since when did he take even a second to weigh his choices like this? Maybe they could end up being useful. Or, another part of him argued, they could end up being a hindrance. There was only one way to find out, he decided finally. He turned on his heel to find them, double-checking the list for Chun-Li and Dorai's cell number when a different name caught his eye. First, he squinted, as if to ensure he was reading it right. But then, he smiled, the idea forming in his mind a sign of how desperate he was for any sort of help. There was no telling what condition she was in, or if she could still cause as much chaos as he thought. But surely it was worth trying.

He headed for her first. The fewer questions the others asked him, the quicker they could move. He had a hunch that they weren't exactly going to let him run off to confront Bison without an argument as it was. He wasn't looking forward to having to convince them-and himself-that he was perfectly fine with this suicidal plan. It was just a matter of collecting explosives and killing his boss. His boss who was now some demigod ruling over the entirety of Indochina. With an army of literal killing machines at his disposal. Simple.

Door after unmarked door passed by on either side of him. Cells were more like small, windowless bedrooms. No barred doors, no plexiglass portholes to peer in or out of. He found his way to her cell, and slid the card through the reader. A somewhat familiar little beep was followed by a click. He toed the door open slowly, gun held at about chest level, just in case. He couldn't know how she'd react to seeing him, given how much she hated him in his reality. But here, she wouldn't have any good reason to even know who he was.

She was the only one in the cell. Perhaps a testament to how dangerous she still was. After all, she wasn't known for playing well with others. She glared up at him with one eye, the other permanently closed and hideously scarred. He couldn't keep from grimacing at the sight of her. Bison didn't even have the decency to give her an eye patch. Her lip curled up at him, as if _he _were the disturbing one here. "Who the hell are you?" she snapped. So she still had her spirit, at least.

"_Mi arañita_. You look...less than lovely. But I suppose you'll still do."

She scoffed at that, eyebrows shooting up in disbelief. "Excuse me? Wanna come a little closer so I can castrate you with my foot?"

"Save your vitriol for Bison. Unless, that is, you'd like to stay in here."

"What are you talking about, asshole?"

He smiled. Was there anything that could break Juri Han? He couldn't imagine her in _any _reality as demure, shy, submissive. "I'm offering you your freedom in exchange for one small thing."

The scowl receded, but she still looked angry. Clearly she didn't trust him, but he didn't blame her for it. "Like what?"

"I leave that to your imagination. And I know you have quite a beautiful one." He pushed the door open the rest of the way, and stepped back out into the hall, hoping to make it plain he full well meant for her to walk out of here.

She pushed herself up to her feet, still skeptical. It made sense for her to be cautious, and he couldn't really know how she'd been treated here. Maybe it wasn't the first time she'd been taunted with an offer of freedom. She made it to the threshold, tense but curious. He watched as she peered down the corridor one way, then the other before finally crossing her arms over her chest. "You're really gonna let me out?"

He nodded. "And I'm sure there are some people out there that you would like to..." He tilted his head. "Thank?"

"Something like that," she whispered. She looked back up at him, still scowling but ready to leave. "Who are you, anyway?"

"It's a good question." He didn't have any more to say to her. There were no explicit instruction to give, and even if there were, he was certain she wouldn't follow them. What he did know, however, was that Juri was vengeful, she was vindictive, and she was deadly. Maybe less so without her false eye, but he was sure, given her attitude, that she still knew how to cause a bit of chaos, and was more than willing. He hoped she'd end up providing a decent enough distraction while he made his own move.

Navigating the halls a bit quicker now, he spotted the offensive, blond flattop that served almost as a beacon. One idiot American is here, approach with caution. "This one," he called out, indicating the cell the man was searching for.

Guile glared back, almost like he didn't want to accept any kind of help from him. The look caused Vega to roll his eyes, and that only made the other man angrier. "Oh, I'm sorry, should I be singing your praises because you're coming back to help us?"

"No," he said, unlocking the cell door. "You should be singing my praises because of the sheer wonder and amazement I obviously instill in you." He opened the door and there they were, just as the registry had said. Dorai was tense and on his feet, clearly expecting a threat. Chun-Li was behind him, prepared for the worst. They both took a second to process that there were a pair of familiar faces at the door, and not Shadaloo guards.

"Hey, no fair, they got a pillow," Guile said, gesturing to the item in question on the floor. He laughed when Chun-Li let out a cry of relief and threw her arms around him. The smile faded when he saw how she hesitated to react in a similar manner to Andeés. The guy was nothing but bad news, and maybe she was finally starting to realize that.

"Grateful doesn't begin to cover it," Dorai said, gripping Guile's hand tightly. He nodded politely to Andres instead, just as cautious as his daughter.

"Yeah, we can start getting mushy when we're actually safe," Guile said. "What now?"

"If you head directly east, sooner of later, you'll come across a river. Follow it as far south as you can. That will take you towards Bangkok and perhaps from there you can find someone willing to smuggle you out of here," Vega offered. **  
**

"You say that in a way that makes it sound like you're not coming," Guile noted. But he couldn't say it bothered him. It was probably better for Chun-Li in the long run if this guy left her alone for the rest of her life.

"We need to stick together if we're going to make it," Chun-Li said, still unwilling to part with him.

"I told you what I have to do, and I'm not leaving until it's done," Vega insisted. He knew this was coming, and wanted to get the conversation over with as quickly as possible. If they left him alone, they'd be out of his mind and he could be out of theirs. No more arguments, no more trying to convince each other of what the truth was. But if they followed him further into Shadaloo, he wouldn't be able to ignore them.

"Stop being an idiot and acting like you've got no choice but to throw your life away like that," Guile snapped. The way he'd already seemed to commit himself to the idea that this was his last stand was stupid, as far as Guile was concerned. He could easily make the decision to leave like they were going to do, but he refused out of some stubborn notion that this was his only option. It was childish, short-sighted, not to mention he was setting himself up for failure. Who was he to think he could achieve something the rest of the world couldn't figure out how to do?

"It's not a very good decision," Dorai said, a bit more gentle with his opinion. Having experienced raising a teenager, he knew definitively telling someone not to do something often ended in them doing just that.

"If I'm going to die either way, I'd like it to at least be on my terms," Vega said. He wasn't nearly as comfortable with this statement as he appeared, but it was an unfortunate truth he had to face. Their chances of making it out of the base alive were already slim enough. Even if they got out, they were only escaping into wider Shadaloo territory. The notion that someone wouldn't just turn them back over to Bison out of fear of what might happen to them if they didn't was a bit more like a hopeful fantasy. Maybe there was a chance they'd happen upon someone willing to help them-for the right price, most likely. Or maybe they'd find a way to contact someone outside of Shadaloo for help. But he knew it was unlikely, and they'd probably end up right back in their cells sooner or later.

"Look bud, I'm not going to keep wasting time trying to convince you," Guile said. "We need to make a move, and do it quick. If that means this is where we part ways, then so be it." They weren't getting any freer standing around talking about it, and someone could catch them at any moment.

"I'm going with him," Chun-Li said.

Guile laughed. Why was that not surprising? Dorai shook his head slowly. "No. You can't-"

"What I can't do is leave him," she said. She glanced back at an increasingly impatient Vega, and then back to her dad. She knew he wouldn't take it well, but there was little he could do about it short of knocking her out and carrying her out of this place himself. "I know Andres is still there, somewhere. He wouldn't abandon me. So I wouldn't do it to him."

"Chun-Li. No. He's..." Dorai struggled to pick a word that wouldn't come off as insulting, but found it pretty difficult. That and the entire 'kidnapped by terrorists' bit had left him a tad worn out, to say the least. "He's not well. You said it yourself. The more you play into his delusions, the worse they're going to get."

"They aren't delusions," Vega said. "But I'm past caring about whether you believe me or not. Good luck with whatever it is you choose to do." He was done waiting for them to decide. They could argue here all day if they wanted, but he had to move. So he left without further argument. He didn't expect Guile and Dorai to do much to stop him. They may have realized that they couldn't, or maybe that they didn't even want to. An easy solution to the problem of the psychopath dating their friend and daughter. But Chun-Li might have a harder time of leaving him alone. How did she still care one way or the other? Hadn't he convinced her of who he was? Why did she care so much over the possibility of his alternate self coming back that she'd be willing to risk her own safety over it? He still couldn't figure out what had happened, and maybe he wouldn't ever get an answer, so how was she so confident that the person she loved would come back? He thought of Cammy and her offer to him and felt a bit sick. Maybe people tended to fool themselves over people they wanted to care about. They held out hope that the impossible could happen and that things could be set right again. That any problem, no matter how big, could be fixed. Did he have that kind of hope for anybody?

What a senseless train of thought. This was the end of the line for him, and he knew it. The sooner he accepted that, the better he could focus on at least dying as a success and not a failure. He was going to sink his teeth into Bison's throat and drag him to hell with him, end of story. _That_ was his happy ending.

The weather in Thailand was only tolerable around this time of year. The air was dry, warm, few clouds in the sky, little threat of rain. It hit him all at once as he pushed open the door. It was just like the Shadaloo he was used to. Still the same bland, boring buildings, scattered around within the perimeter of a tall, razor-wire fence. He could see it from here, though the prison was located in the center of the compound for a reason. He supposed it was a good thing he wasn't trying to escape.

There were more than just guards patrolling around the edges of the place. It wasn't what he'd call crowded. But there were certainly more people milling about than he liked. People wandered from building to building. Some dressed casually, some dressed as soldiers, others as guards, still others in lab coats. How recognizable was he to the average person here? How likely were they to pay attention to him if he were just another guy wandering towards his job for the day? Maybe guards would know his face, but what reason was there for a lab technician to know who he was? A mechanic? An engineer? It was definitely a risk, to just throw himself out there so casually, but sneaking around was bound to attract much, much more attention.

So with a deep breath, he readied himself to mingle with the workers of Shadaloo, forced his face to a miserably bored expression, and-

There was shouting, and he thought for sure he'd been caught. The sound of a vehicle revving before slamming into something momentarily blocked out all other sounds. He listened intently to the chaos on the other side of the building. Gunshots, screaming, and a wild kind of laughter that was instantly recognizable as belonging to Juri Han. The unarmed workers scattered towards the nearest buildings at the sound, unwilling to put themselves in the crossfire. Someone shouted out about an escaped prisoner, but his cry was cut short. Vega pressed himself to the wall and peered around the corner towards the direction of the noise. A jeep had been smashed into the side of a building-wasn't that one of the living spaces? Steam or smoke poured from under the hood, and he could see a man pinned between the front of the car and a wall. Juri was taunting a group of men with guns aimed at her, daring them to shoot. It was now or never.

He bolted for the armory, the violent scene outside providing plenty of cover. He heard a round of gunfire and more deranged laughter. He wasn't sure if she'd make it out of this alive, but she'd certainly give them a beating before being taken down. Opening the door, he focused his attentions forward. Two men were already in there, both in a soldier's uniform. They looked up at him immediately when he came in, and to avoid suspicion, he quickly cried in a panicked voice, "Some crazy girl is out there killing everyone!"

"Are you serious?" one of them said, rushing to the window.

"Oh, dude, she just kicked that guy in the throat!" the other said as he ran up beside the other.

He really hadn't expected that to work so well. Without thinking much of it, he fired on the pair of men distracted by the scene outside. The first one gasped and fell, the second stumbled back and fumbled with his own weapon. Vega finished him off, and he fell on top of the first soldier. He'd buy Juri dinner if they made it out of here. If he ever saw her again. Maybe it was just the thought that counted.

The room was lined with weapons on every wall. Guns, ammunition, explosives, tear gas canisters. If one could name it, there was probably at least one in here, short of nuclear weapons. Then, who knew? Maybe that had changed, too. He found an olive colored bag on one of the lower shelves. It was plenty big enough to stuff full of explosives. He had to move quick. There was no telling how soon they'd have Juri under control out there, and he'd have a much harder time making it to the psycho drive without everyone focusing on her.

The door squealed noisily as it opened. He spun towards it, gun at about head level, and her shocked expression was what kept him from pulling the trigger. He took a breath and lowered his weapon. "Word of advice, _querida_? _Don't _sneak up on armed fugitives."

"Noted," she whispered, wide eyes tracing over the pair of dead bodies on the floor, the blood pooling around them. "Did you..." She stopped, unable to tear her eyes away. "You killed them?"

"It was that or let them kill me."

She nodded slowly, though nothing sounded so absurd in her mind as her boyfriend-the guy who did his best to put spiders outside instead of squishing them on sight-carelessly murdering people. Realizing it did her no good to keep staring at these dead men, she finally looked back up at him. Eyes cold and stoic, saying nothing of any kind of remorse or worry or fear. Assault rifle slung over his shoulder. In one hand he clutched a bag. The other was pulling things from the shelving that lined the walls of the room. "What are you doing?" she asked, trying to root herself back in the moment, to make herself forget how badly she ached for this man to disappear back to whatever hellish reality he came from and just let Andres come home.

"If I put enough of these around the psycho drive, it should keep him from being able to come back." He paused while he zipped the bag up and slid the strap over his shoulder. "Then I suppose it's a matter of actually killing him." He was kidding himself, he realized. Maybe he could blow up the psycho drive. After all, it'd been done before. But if Bison was really as powerful as he seemed here, what chance did he actually stand at really taking him out?

"We should be running from here as fast as we can."

"So that he can chase us?" He let himself laugh a bit, even if there was nothing funny. He should've known she'd try again to convince him to leave. Maybe she didn't plan to help him at all, but to make him change his mind. "This is our only chance. Either we destroy him now, or we'll be hunted for the rest of our lives, however short they may be."

"We can find help." She looked at him as he headed towards her. No trace of Andres anymore, just some cold, callous stranger.

"No. We have to help ourselves." He looked through the window on the door to the messy scene outside. Juri was on the ground, someone had her arms behind her back and it took one man each to keep her legs still. He was going to lose this opportunity if he didn't move now. His hand went to the knob. She stopped him for a moment, her hand on his wrist.

"You're risking his life and yours at the same time." It wasn't a question or a threat, just a statement of sheer, bizarre fact. "I don't know who you are. But I know that I love him, wherever he is, and if you do this-if you fail-I might never see him again."

He took in a deep breath and shook his head slightly, as if this were all inconsequential to him. Really he was more nervous than he'd ever been in his life. When Chun-Li-the real one, from his world-kicked him through the window of her apartment, he hadn't had enough time to really contemplate his potential death. It didn't take too long to fall twelve stories. But now he had to force each and every step towards what was very likely going to be the end of his life and fool himself into thinking it wasn't bothering him. He supposed all that time he spent pretending was paying off now. He turned the handle and told her with a shrug, "Cross your fingers_._"


	15. Chapter 15

Juri didn't last much longer with the number of people out there after her. She put up a good fight, and when he glanced that way, he saw a surprising number of men on the ground. Some weren't moving at all, and others were clutching injured body parts and writhing in pain. "This is it, you know?" he asked Chun-Li as she tried to march confidently beside him, as if they belonged here and were simply annoyed with all the noise and fighting going on. Not that anyone was paying attention to them when a one-eyed Korean girl had bodies littering the ground at her feet.

"I know."

"You don't seem like you do," he said. The building that housed the psycho drive was at the back of the compound. Most of the rooms in it were dedicated to experimentation. The machine itself was located underground. He didn't know if Bison was there or not, given how large his new empire was. Maybe he liked to stroll the roads of the cities he'd claimed possession of, showing how unafraid he was of any kind of threat. But he remembered someone mentioning Bison hadn't been seen for years, and that just made the process all the more nerve-wracking.

"You know what? I don't," she replied as they reached the pair of doors. "I don't know about any of this. So I just keep thinking of what I do know, because that's what's going to make me go through with this insane and utterly dangerous idea of yours."

"What do you know?" he said. He forced himself to take a hold of the door handle but outwardly showed no signs of struggle.

"I've already told you," she said and he nodded as if he understood. She laughed a little, and threw his words back in his face. "You don't seem like you do." He glanced at her, wanting to know what she meant. "I don't think you know much about love. Or loving somebody. Letting somebody love you. You're combative, angry, and what matters to you is you. So don't nod at me. Don't tell me you understand how I feel for him or how he feels for me. Don't pretend that you care about any of that. Just focus on staying alive, because you've got his life in your hands too, and I want him back safe."

He gripped the handle a little tighter. He didn't think it was possible to feel any emptier than he did already but she managed to make it happen. He wanted to have some clever retort, to have some cutting observation to throw back in her face but he didn't. He pulled open the door and every muscle that simple movement activated seemed to tremble and cry out against it. This was certain death. This was the end. He stepped inside and kept moving.

The place was quiet. It made him nervous, to have nothing but the hum of electricity to compete with their footsteps and rustling clothing. He couldn't remember the last time he was so anxious. Maybe never. Until now, he'd only been up against people. Normal, every day, beneath-him people. Not a superpowered madman. Did Bison know he was here yet? How long did he have before someone found him? Hopefully he had enough time to plant the charges and run. The ensuing destruction could provide enough of a distraction for them to make it out of here. Unless Bison was down there. "Where are the other two?" he asked her.

"They're coming."

He couldn't suppress the small, sarcastic laugh. Persistent, these people. "Why?"

"To help."

"What help could they possibly have to offer?"

"Will you just shut up and accept it?" she said, the words chased by an agitated sigh. "Maybe it's not much, but it's what we can do, so we'll do it!"

He raised his eyebrows but said nothing. Their choice. Their lives to throw away. He kept moving and she kept pace beside him, seeming to be completely undaunted by all of this. It was a trait that would've impressed him if it wasn't her who exhibited it.

They made it to the stairwell without any interference, and this wasn't reassuring. Maybe everyone was down below, fervently waking Bison, alerting him to the escaped prisoners. Maybe they were expected to come down there and would be greeted with a hail of gunfire. Whatever the case, he couldn't stop now. Their steps echoed down as they descended the stairs. He strained his ears, listening for any sign of activity, however benign, but there was nothing. They reached the bottom floor and he took another breath as he crept towards the door. Through the pane of plexiglass, he saw no one in the corridor that led to the psycho drive. No one sat at the computers at the far end of the hall.

She seemed more cautious and quieter now. Her footsteps were slower and softer. He found himself moving the same way and maybe it was this room. Some oppressive black cloud seemed to hang over them as they pressed on, and he knew it would only get worse. The last time he'd been in here was the day he saved Cammy from being crushed under the rubble of the collapsing building. It was a mystery to him then and it still was now.

A sliver of light spilled out from beneath a door. Part of him thought of it as insignificant, but he couldn't take the chance. Even if it was something as innocuous as a supply closet, he had to be certain it was empty or risk being interrupted. He glanced at Chun-Li first, still in the same dress she'd been wearing at Ken's wedding. How far away all of that seemed now. He'd called it painfully normal at the time but now he saw it a little differently-it was peaceful, and for a moment in time, no one had wanted to kill him.

He focused on the door and tested the handle. Locked, naturally, but no one had called out to question who was there. So either they didn't want to be found, or there was, quite simply, no one in there. He had to know, so he asked her, "Do you have a clip in your hair?"

She nodded, pulled one out, and right away some of her hair fell loose around her face. She watched him as he pushed the pin into the lock. "Your mom said it was impossible to ground you. Now I guess I know why."

He hesitated for a minute because that was right. His mom had never really been one for 'grounding' him, but his step-dad certainly was. That always meant an exit through the window, though. He didn't respond to her, and held out his hand instead. "Another one."

"Please," she corrected him. He sighed but she handed it to him anyway. He heard the pins click into place and stood up.

"Stay here," he said. "Tell me if anyone's coming." She nodded and stepped back against the wall to get a better view of both the door they'd come from and the threshold of the next room.

Vega pushed open the door, prepared for the worst. But the contents of the room left him mildly confused. He didn't have to ask why Bison had taken her prisoner. Rose was probably one of the only people who stood a fighting chance against him. One of the few people who'd still try to stop him. It only made sense for him to nip the problem in the bud and keep her under his heel. "Why aren't you with the other prisoners?" He wanted the words to come out with some disdain, to show he wasn't afraid of her. But the sight of her like this was too pathetic for him to muster up the contempt. Her hair was thin and stringy. Her eyes were dull and lackluster. She seemed gaunt, cheekbones sharper than usual, dark circles under her eyes.

"He put me here to torture me," she said, eyes not quite reaching his. "He knows that I can barely stand being so close to it."

He knew he shouldn't stop to speak to her for long. Anyone could enter the building at any time, and he was one room away from his goal. But the curiosity was overwhelming. "How did he capture you?"

"You see how powerful he is now," she answered. "As he grew stronger, I became weaker. The balance is gone, and I'm unable to stop him." Her eyes finally met his, and it was as uncomfortable as ever to look into them. "It's why I pray for your success."

"You know what I'm here for, then?" Of course she did.

"Yes, Vega. I know why you're here."

Why, of everyone in the world, did she seem to be the only one who understood who he was? Hearing that name again suddenly emboldened him. Home felt within reach. Surely if she knew who he was, then she knew how he could get back. "How do I get away from this place?" he asked.

"It's up to you," she answered. "I can't tell you what to do from here."

"Why does it not surprise me that you're not going to be any help?"

She laughed, but it was a weak, hollow sound. "What would you like me to do? Hold your hand and show you the way? To look into the future and tell you what's best? No one is given such help. But you enjoy feeling like the exception, don't you?"

"Doesn't everyone?"

She shook her head. "Your success is not resolute." Her eyes met his and there was a sudden strength there. She seemed somehow less pitiful. He felt like he was made of glass when she looked at him this way, and it was precisely why he despised her. No one on the planet was a good enough liar to fool this woman. "He will do whatever is in his power to stop you, and his power is insurmountable. This is not the man you know, but a monster. I can't make you understand what you're facing. I can only hope that your being here is the correct choice." She was quiet for a second, and her eyes closed. "It is not the choice I would have made," she said finally.

"What do you know? Why am I here? What _is _here?"

"You don't have time," she said. "Go, before it's too late."

He glared at her for her lack of explanation. Of course there wasn't time. Why had he stopped to speak with her to begin with? She'd never done much to help him, and the few times in his life he had spoken to her, it'd all been in riddles and codes. "You'll die, too, won't you?" She would be too near the explosion here.

"Perhaps. But you like being in the position to decide such a thing, don't you? You like that sort of power over another person."

"I have zero interest in any kind of power. I know what it does to people." He pulled her up to her feet by her wrist, and he noticed how light she felt, how she swayed briefly. He could end her life right here and now. Why? Because she intimidated him, because she had a frightening amount of insight, because she was supposed to be the enemy. But there was no bigger tragedy in his eyes than to see her wither and die like this. He couldn't let another beautiful thing perish at the hands of something monstrous. "Chun-Li," he said as he pulled Rose with him out into the corridor.

"Oh my God," Chun-Li whispered, her hand covering her mouth at the sight of the gaunt, malnourished woman. Immediately she came to her side and slid an arm around her for support.

"Get her away from here," he said.

The conflict in her eyes was clear. Did she abandon him? What if he needed more help? But this woman obviously needed someone to get her up those stairs. So she nodded, and said, "My dad and Guile should be headed this way soon." He didn't respond to her, partly because he didn't believe for a second that they'd risk coming down here to help him if they had her. He watched the pair of women head back to the stairwell, wanting to be certain they were gone before he moved on.

Finally, he turned back towards the psycho drive. He tried not to pay attention to the way his heart hammered in his chest as he stepped into the room. No one was there, but that didn't mean he was safe. He did a quick round, looking under desks and behind anything big enough to hide a person, setting charges at computers as he went. Until then he'd only spared the machine at the center of the room passing glances. When he finally looked at, he saw someone inside of it. He swallowed hard, staring at the pane of glass. Maybe it had been Bison once. But now it was some desiccated thing, practically a corpse, leathery skin stretched taught across the bones, wisps of white hair in patches around the skull. Its eyes were open, so large in the deep sockets, and he felt a shock when it slowly, almost imperceptibly, turned its head to better look at him.

He couldn't spare anymore time wondering about it. Quickly, he pulled the bag of charges around in front of him, and one by one, attached them to the machine and armed them. He'd glance anxiously inside the machine every now and then, and that disgusting thing inside was still watching him. His heart beat faster, but he tried to ignore it. He stepped away, backing towards the corridor he'd come from, empty-handed save the detonator.

He felt someone tug his free hand and he drew it away immediately. But as he turned to look for whoever it was, he found he wasn't in the base anymore. The quiet hum of the psycho drive was gone, replaced by a pleasant birdsong. The sky was bright and blue, a few clouds drifting by. His heart caught in his throat as he began to realize where he was. The tall grass, the tree with the tattered and worn ropes tied to its branches, the bird feeders, the colorful flowers. He tried to breathe evenly, saw shapes behind the gauzy curtains, people moving in the home, his home. "Dad." He turned slowly at the sound, felt another tug at his hand. "Daddy."

A little girl stood beside him, shaking his arm, looking up at him. What was going on? Hadn't he just been in the heart of Shadaloo, ready to blow the psycho drive to pieces? When had that changed? How was he home? How were there people here? Why were the flowers still blooming instead of dead or overgrown? Why were the bird feeders kept full with seeds instead of rotting at the end of their decaying strands of twine? "_Daddyyy!_ Help me!" He looked down again, catching his breath, and a little girl was standing impatiently on the tips of her toes, holding a pen and sheet of paper to him.

"Help?" he repeated, the words creeping out of him, uncertain. If he spoke, maybe the illusion would suddenly be shattered, and he'd be back in Thailand. Or maybe even back in his proper reality, where-

Where what? What was real for him? Which life was the right one?

"Help with abuela's card. Help me draw it."

"Abuela?"

"Abuela...that's _your _mommy..." She said it like she was unsure, like she thought he was quizzing her. But he was completely confused, again. He didn't want to follow this to its logical conclusion. Did he?

"My mom?"

"Daddy, pleeease." She held the pen and paper up again. "You can make it pretty for abuela."

"No." The word was barely audible as he searched frantically around him. This wasn't right, it wasn't real. He wasn't supposed to be here. He had to go _home, _to his real home.

_This could be better than home. _

The voice whispered through his mind amid his other chaotic thoughts and questions, and it was like throwing out an anchor into a turbulent sea. He looked down at the little girl. He wasn't used to dealing with children. He knew how to humor one for the sake of appearances, even if he didn't really care for them. But what about this one? "What does abuela like? For her birthday?" she asked.

He dropped heavily to the grass beside the girl and she giggled, utterly delighted. He rubbed his eyes, took in another breath. She was gorgeous, perfect, and why wouldn't she be? She was his, wasn't she? Wasn't that what this place was trying to say? Why would he ever want that? He laughed hysterically into his hands, but she didn't understand and she laughed, too. "You're my daughter," he said, never thinking in all his life he'd hear those words coming from his own mouth. This wasn't making him happy. He was too confused still to decide how he felt. He didn't want children. He didn't want a family.

_Why not?_

"Yeah. Mommy says that all the time." The little girl sat down beside him, a careful task requiring all of her concentration. The paper wrinkled and crumpled slightly before she flattened it out in her lap and scooted as close to him as she could. He didn't know what to do, eyes studying the grass between his feet instead. "Oookay. What do I put for abuela? She likes birds, you can show me to draw a bird?"

"She did like birds," he muttered, hand tangled in his hair as he rested his forehead into his palm. She was dead though. This wasn't real, it couldn't be-

"Find a worm in the grass_, pollito?"_

The sound of the little girl gasping as she frantically hid her project from her grandmother barely registered in his mind. He felt her rush behind him, crying out, "Not yet, abuela, not yet!" And he heard laughter. Laughter he hadn't heard in so long it made his heart ache. It was vivid. It was real. He couldn't help but stare at her. Maybe she looked older, but not worn. Not tired. There wasn't even that cold cynicism anymore. Her eyes crinkled when she smiled, her voice was warm as she teased her granddaughter. He wanted to grab hold of her and never let go before she disappeared again.

_She doesn't have to, if you don't want her to.  
_  
Small, fragile arms slid over his shoulders, little hands grabbed his shirt. "You can help me later?" he heard the girl whisper near his ear. He couldn't answer her. He couldn't focus on any one overwhelming change at once. His mother, his daughter, his home, his family. This couldn't all be his. Even if it was, he didn't want it, did he?

"_Andres,_ ¿_e__stás bien? Paraces enfermo._" He felt his mother's fingers brush back his hair and he fought so hard against the urge to tell her all of his problems and worries and how utterly terrified and uncertain of everything he was at that very moment. He could sit with her again, just like they used to, idly splitting blades of grass, or tossing acorns at the branches of a tree. They'd trade insecurities or complaints. She had so many and he'd never been able to come close to fixing them all. She said life was lonely, harsh, poised and ready to inject its venom into the oblivious wanderer like a snake hidden in the shadows of a wooded path. He said it couldn't be all bad, and she'd laugh. You'll see, _pollito_, you'll see, and you'll know, and she was right. But that just meant, she would say, that you had to be the snake and not the wanderer. That the best way to make it through life was to know what you wanted and to do what you had to to get it. There was no room for uncertainty or ambiguity. So it was the two of them against the world. Until that pig barged into their lives and devoured everything. It gorged itself and at least he could feel some withered and desperate satisfaction that it'd paid for what it'd done.

_Isn't this what you've wanted? To have her back?_

"Andr_e_s?" He could have her again. He could abandon everything else and be content to go home again. To go back to being her son. To adore and dote on this little girl because she was his and his child was the only one who could possibly be worthy of such treatment.

_Just say the word._

"_Estoy bien_," he said to her with a smile, trying to keep his expressions under control. To not burst into tears at the way she acknowledged him with a little smile of her own. He took hold of the little girl's wrists with one hand, felt her heels dig into his sides as he stood up and she laughed. He reached out with his free arm for his mother, pulled her close and she was perfect and warm and real. Wasn't she?

Could he give any good reason for the contrary? For the first time he began to wonder how he'd gotten here. He was beginning to feel foggy as he tried to think of where he came from, what he'd been doing. Part of him tried with all his might to keep from unearthing any reason not to stay here. But it was too late. His reality, his own flawed life was biting at the heels of this slice of utopia. He was a killer, a monster all his own, there was no reward for people like him. Even if he saw his work as a depraved kind of duty, even if he delighted at the sight of the blood of men as vicious as himself, even if he called every death by his hand a work of art, he couldn't unlearn who he was or what he'd done to get there. Rose's warning came to him suddenly, her plea so desperate because she knew how easily he could be manipulated. Bison would stop at nothing to persevere, to conquer everything, and if that meant another bend in the fabric of reality itself, then that's what he'd do.

"Come inside and eat something, you two." Her voice seemed to waver. It was something tenuous, all of existence suddenly like a reflection on the waters of a still pond, and his hesitant thoughts were dropping through it like pebbles. Did he focus, push away those warnings? So what if where he'd come from suffered? What did he care? He didn't have to be there, he could stay here. Was that cowardly? How could he live with himself, to know that he'd willingly run from his own life? Abandoned everything because it'd been deemed too difficult to change? Hadn't he spent so much time convincing himself that he already had what he wanted? That he'd taken what was given to him and crafted something tolerable with it? No, he couldn't run now. Few things were so ugly as cowards.

Something like a powerful wind screamed around them, and no one seemed to notice but him. He squeezed his eyes shut as it got louder and louder. He desperately tried to remember the quickly decaying scene around him. The tinkling laughter of the little girl. The scent of his mother mingling with the afternoon air of his childhood home. The happiness in her eyes. Maybe it was somewhere, but it wasn't where he belonged, and he had to accept that. Hiding in a fantasy wasn't an option, and he had to face what he'd made out of his life.

"This doesn't make you any less of a coward."

He opened his eyes, all softness left behind with the life he'd just rejected. Something stood in front of him. Maybe in his reality, he would've called that something 'Bison'. But here, it never kept one single shape. Part of it was one thing, part of it another, image always shifting in pieces from person to person. He'd catch glimpses of people he recognized. There, half its face was like Ryu's. There, a shock of wild blond hair like Ken's. It took a step towards him, and he glanced at the psycho drive. It was open now. The twisted husk of Bison was still in there, watching with those wide eyes and that permanent grimace. So what was this? Some kind of projection? He thought of Rose's warning and she was right. She couldn't prepare him for something like this. His teeth ground together as he tried to hold his position, unwilling to back down, but there was something so fundamentally _wrong _with this creature that it pained him to even look at it.

"We've seen your thoughts. We've heard your desperate and pathetic begging. Would it comfort you to know that you're no different from the rest of humanity?" It tilted its head as it spoke. It wasn't Bison's voice, not the one he'd grown accustomed to hearing. It was many voices at once, some familiar, some strange. "No, it wouldn't. That's terrifying to you and your kind. The individual lost to the greater whole."

"Do you think I give a shit?"

The forms stopped shifting as, piece by piece, it agreed on one form to take. There stood in front of him Chun-Li, her expression as serious as ever. "It's what you're afraid of. To no longer be 'I' but 'we'. Such a tragedy to compromise, to change, to modify and arrange yourself to better accept another into your life."

"I don't need to."

The forms shifted again, and he saw himself. This time, he did step back as it stepped forward. His eyes were so cold, completely unfeeling, and was this how he really looked to the world? "But your only other option, to be so alone, is the next greatest fear. What a sad and miserable existence, to live constantly in contradictions."

He took a breath, quite unable to shake the oddity of looking into his own eyes. "It doesn't matter." He held up the detonator in his hand as if to gloat about his inevitable victory.

But it didn't seem deterred, and the form changed again. He was met with Cammy's determined gaze. "It comes as no surprise to us that you should be responsible for this. You were a factor in our destruction in your world. You condemned our progeny to a life without us, cut her apart from the whole. What a fool we ever were to take you in. But then, who could reject a creature as fascinating as yourself?" She reached for him and he flinched. She brushed his hair back from his face with her fingers. "You are layer upon layer of contradictions, a graceful, beautiful thing, ugly and savage in nature."

"Would you like to see just how savage I can be?"

"We have seen." It tilted its head, Cammy's image melting into that of his mother's. "We can close our eyes and direct our gaze to everything you've ever destroyed. We can count every drop of blood you've ever spilled. Feel your amusement in thinking you've won something. The adrenaline as you realize you are and continue to be the survivor." It took another step forward, and he in turn stepped back. His breath caught in his throat as the image changed into that of a hideous face he could never forget, no matter how hard he tried. "You want so desperately to prove you're different from him. Every success, it's not for you. It's not for your mother. It's not for your Killer Bee. It's for him. To show him that you aren't as pathetic and useless and worthless as he told you. Every day is another competition, a quest to prove your worth to a man who has been dead for nearly a decade." It finally showed some sign of emotion, a mocking expression he'd forgotten he'd been so familiar with, and he felt suddenly like a kid again. "You'll never have the recognition you're hunting. And you don't even realize how sad it is that you'll still continue to try all the same."

"Shut up," he whispered, trying to sound confident, but his bewildered eyes clearly relayed the opposite. It was wrong, he-_it, _this _thing_\- didn't know what it was talking about. It was lying, trying to-

"...to stop me from killing it. But it's wrong, my success is for me, no one else, it will say and do anything to survive, like me, a perfect predator, like it said, savage, a complete fucking monster-"

"Shut up!" He couldn't listen to it, couldn't stand to hear it speak his own thoughts to him. Who knew what it might dig up, how deep into his head it might delve?

It changed again, back to cycling through its various forms. "Don't fear what we know, because we know everything. We've seen every strand and thread of every life, just the same as she has, and we can see each action and choice that splits one reality into two, three, four..." He felt a hand on his shoulder and he winced almost instinctively. This thing, whatever it was, because it clearly wasn't just Bison anymore, was like some black hole of negativity. He could almost feel it feeding off of his fear and confusion and desperation. The closer it got, the stronger its pull. "We've seen every way your life falls apart, every way it struggles to remain in tact, and every way it succeeds." Why didn't he run? "Would you like to know how this is going to end?"

Then it was gone completely. A quick movement, a sudden, sharp pain speared through his chest, a shocked cry climbed its way out of his throat. His eyes never left hers, and he stared, unwilling to accept at first what had happened. That Cammy had just stabbed him, the blade sinking its way slowly into one of his lungs. Her eyes were cold, but in an entirely different and horrifying way from a Doll. There was a knowledge there not unlike that creature he'd just faced, something deep and profound and completely detached from humanity. "You could have been so happy, even if we don't think you deserve it," she said.

"No-" he managed to choke out. He tried to push himself away from her as the pain worsened. Her free hand slid around behind his head, fingers tangling themselves in his hair, keeping him still.

"But you are a murderer, just like him."

He gasped for air desperately, like that would somehow diminish the terror in understanding that he might have failed, but every breath caused more pain. "No, no, I-" he uttered again. The blade was yanked away, and one of his hands flew to the wound, warm blood rushing freely to the surface with the removal of the obstruction.

"We give you what you've earned," she said.

He tried to keep his breaths even, felt his eyes stinging, his heart beating faster. "No, Cammy, I-"

"I am not your abejita, chica, gatita, querida, bella." If her face wasn't so stoic, he would've thought she was mocking him. She took a handful of his hair and shoved him away. He stumbled back into something-a table, a desk, he wasn't sure-and another round of pain flared over his chest. He took a moment to try to gather himself back up, but she sat in his lap, taking hold of his chin. Her eyes were horrible when they settled on his, proving to him that she was right. This wasn't Cammy. This was some awful creature he'd failed to save, hadn't even tried.

"You're not, you're not," he said quickly around shallow breaths. He tasted blood in his mouth. She held her blade to his throat and it stung but he smiled deliriously. If anyone was going to kill him, he thought it should be her. "You deserved-" he managed to mutter pathetically, trying to reassure her. "I ruined everything. I loved you and I ruined everything-"

A gunshot sounded sharply in the room. There was something wet and warm on his face and there was a heavy thud as she hit the ground. He stared for a moment, not processing what had just happened, eyes still focused on the air where hers had been. Someone took him by the arm but they seemed so far away, and the ringing in his ears wasn't helping matters. He tried to breathe and it was difficult and painful. He blinked and looked down at her. Her blood fell across her face in dark streaks and pooled around her head. Her eyes were empty and glassy like marbles. The scream burst from his throat, maybe startling even himself as he finally realized that she was dead. A more rational part of himself tried to reason that this wasn't his version of Cammy. That he needed to stay calm to increase his chance of surviving. But the rest of him was unhinged at the sight of her covered in blood, already dead before he could say good bye and it was all happening again wasn't it? Did loving someone mean he had to watch them die?

"Keep it together!" a gruff voice demanded but he couldn't tear his eyes away from Cammy. He tried to scream again but the pain in his chest was too much. He was pulled to his feet and he tried to take the opportunity to get away from Guile. "God damn it you idiot, we have to move!" Guile all but barked, grabbing him by the wrist and collar, practically dragging him away. He stared still at Cammy's lifeless body, tears blurring the edges of his vision, sharp pains shooting out from his chest.

"Is he okay?" That was Dorai's voice, wasn't it? Shit, who cared anymore? He'd let her die. Just like that. Hadn't done anything to save her. All this time, and he never tried to save her. His breaths came short, shallow, he couldn't take that pain when he tried to inhale, another taste of blood every time he exhaled.

"Chest wound, maybe punctured lung, that's an hour, tops." He heard the words but they didn't matter. The two kept speaking as they pulled him back towards the stairwell. Something about Chun-Li. About Rose. Needed a way out. Another distraction. He knew a good one. That weight in his hand suddenly felt too heavy to keep holding onto and he remembered what it was for. He was probably going to die, so what was the point in fighting someone who already won? He coughed and blood filled his mouth again. How had he allowed this to happen to him? He thought of Cammy, or the monster wearing her skin when she'd stabbed him, and he felt suddenly angry. Not just that he'd let her die, but that she'd had such a disgusting fate manufactured for her to begin with. He ground his teeth together as he tried to shift his weight back to his feet, to pull his arm from Guile's grip.

"What're you doing?" the man asked. He didn't answer. He didn't have to answer anyone if he didn't feel like it. He just had to do what he'd come here for. To show this creature that it couldn't get away with what it'd turned Cammy into, that it wasn't going to kill him without suffering first. Without a warning to Dorai or Guile, he turned the key in the detonator. The noise was deafening and the last thing he felt was fire.

* * *

'Bison's' appearance in this chapter was inspired by the scramble suit from Philip K. Dick's "A Scanner Darkly". Thanks to everyone still reading!


	16. Chapter 16

Someone was clapping politely. Was that thing masquerading as Bison mocking him for his efforts? He forced his eyes open, and the world seemed to be in pieces, on fire, black smoke pouring into the otherwise calm, clear sky. He thought he heard his name being called. The cry was muffled, so far away, drowned out by the ringing in his ears and that clapping. Someone's hands were in his hair, their forehead pressed against his, something wet and cool dripped on his face. He realized they were crying. He tried to ask, "Who's there?" but his mouth didn't work.

But someone answered all the same. "My name can't be said by you. It'd quite simply take too long." The voice was otherworldly, light, and he thought of how a sunbeam looked when it poked its way through a break in the clouds at dusk. He tried to find whoever it was that spoke, but it felt impossible to move. "For now I like the sound of...hmm...Ingrid! Lovely name, don't you think?"

He tried hard to force himself to move, to find the source of that sweet and beautiful voice that was like a clear, cool spring in this hellish wasteland he'd just created. Vaguely, someone's muffled sobbing reached him again and he realized it was Chun-Li crying and holding him. Why could he barely discern what was happening around him? Why did it all seem so far away? "Am I dying?" he tried to say, but again, nothing came out.

"Yes and no."

"You're helpful," he muttered but didn't at the same time. Because apparently that was a possibility here, wherever he was.

"My! How disrespectful!" Everything around him was smeared together, existence like a wet painting someone had run their fingers through. It was almost like viewing the world through a frosted pane of glass. The muffled voices were even more obscured now. The one clear thing was a young woman-or maybe she was still a girl. Her hair seemed unable to decide what color it was, shimmering white to blond. Bright red eyes spoke of some deep knowledge while they looked over him, but they were innocent and amused all the same. She dropped to the ground beside him and smiled like she had an exciting secret to tell him. "Good job!" She poked him in his wounded chest and he felt a jolt run through him. He wanted to scream, but all that came out was a low, pained groan. The blurry people around him seemed to react to that, even if he couldn't fully see or understand them anymore. "You people can be so fun to watch."

"People?" he repeated in a rushed, breathy whisper.

She nodded, long and perfectly straight hair bouncing around her pale, round face. "You're all so full of opportunity, so tangled up in each other. You haven't seemed to understand that, even though it's so important. I can't fault you for it, though. You're all so young." She stopped a moment to giggle, then explained the reason for it. "Picture that, won't you? A whole planet run by toddlers! Oh!" She laughed again and patted his head like he was some beloved pet, or a child.

"Do you mind?" When had his life decided to take such a bizarre turn?

"Oh, you know," she said, wrapping a strand of his hair around her finger. "It doesn't take its turns on its own. You make it go where you tell it." She twisted her lips and tilted her head. "And you've told it some very naughty things, haven't you?"

He wanted to grit his teeth, but couldn't. So she could read his thoughts. That should've been a little more surprising to him but it wasn't. Not after what had happened with Bison. "What would you know?"

"I know just about everything." She said it simply, politely. Like she thought he was stupid for even asking, but had to placate him in the interest of civility. "That's why I picked you to help do this." She poked him again, but no shock of pain came with it.

"To do what?"

"That nasty Bison needed to be taught a lesson!" She crossed her arms over her chest. "He took and he took and he took. So selfish!" Again, she reached out to poke him and again that jolt of pain and fire spread over him. He wanted to scream and curse and shout, anything to feel like maybe he was expelling that horrible, intolerable agony, but he could only whimper and groan. "You're selfish too, you know." She poked him again. "You're just the lesser threat."

"Stop it!" he gasped, finally managing to at least arch his back away from her prodding finger. He felt hands on him, trying to steady him. But what was going on around him seemed still indecipherable. He felt a vague sense of movement at higher speeds but couldn't be sure of it.

"Stop? No, no, _you _stop!" she cried as if it were a game, pinching and squeezing his sides and he wanted to cry from how much it hurt. He tried to curl up into a ball to get away from her hands. He groaned, watering eyes finding that pale, childish face, beaming with light. She looked up suddenly, as if startled by a noise but he hadn't heard anything. "There. You've died and you've lived."

"Yes, I know what you're talking about. You aren't being vague at-"

"Ah!" she cried, and smacked him once in the face, gripping him by the jaw and forcing his head to shake. "Stop, stop!" He was glaring at her, and if her hand wasn't covering his mouth, she would've seen the frown that completed the picture. "How negative! How cynical! You know what that does to you? It's like somebody squeezing your heart in their hand, tighter and tighter! Only the person squeezing it is you! How does that feel, to know you're always hurting yourself like that?" She cocked her head at him like an impatient mother waiting for an explanation from an irresponsible child.

"Oh my God, _leave me alone," _he groaned, tired of whatever this person was. Why had he ever gotten involved in Shadaloo? Why had he ever put himself at risk of stumbling into situations like this? Clones and androids, super-powered madmen and demons, what was he thinking?

"You were thinking, because the world hurt me, I'll hurt it, too," she said, putting a finger to her chin as her red eyes rolled skyward. He said nothing to her. "What a sad way to squander your short and fragile life." She stopped suddenly, nodding towards their surroundings. "Look," she whispered. He turned his head easily now, and the pain in his chest was gone. The blurry world cleared up a little, but never completely came into focus, and he could make some sense of what was going on. They were in a vehicle. Probably stolen in all the chaos of the explosion. He saw himself, choking on his own blood until those wet, gasping breaths stopped altogether. Chun-Li was sobbing uncontrollably, holding his head in her hands and begging for him to come back. Her father was trying to reach back and comfort her but knew there was little he could do to make her feel better. "There, you're dead."

He felt his heart drop when she said it and he'd never been so frightened in his life. Nothing could cut a person so deeply as seeing their own death. But if he was dead, what was this?

"And there-" The scene was mostly the same only now Chun-Li wasn't crying as much and he still seemed to struggle for another breath. "-you're alive."

"Oh, what the fuck already!" he cried, trying to ignore how scared he sounded. What was going on? Was he alive or not? Who was this woman? Where was he?

"Some of you people, you're so fragile, like glass. That's what you are, a little glass bird! Feather light and fidgety with hollow bones!" She seemed delighted with that conclusion, and Vega could only figure that she was completely insane. As soon as the thought crossed his mind, she frowned in an almost comical, exaggerated manner, and crossed her arms again with a 'harrumph!' "Well, not everyone is so fragile! Some are strong like steel, and glass people like you spend all your time trying to find them! You just found the wrong one, you know." She waved her hand, and the blurry world around them was gone completely. He stared for a moment, devastated to have lost that window back into whatever was happening to him. "Bison is strong, but sometimes, in some places, he uses his strength to stomp others down instead of lifting them up! Isn't that terrible?"

"I don't care!" Vega cried. "Am I dead or not?!" This woman's enthusiasm was a bit much, and she seemed to be totally flippant about his obvious state of panic. All of this was completely ridiculous, and he was sick of being at the mercy of someone more powerful than himself. He couldn't feel any pain in his chest anymore and that only made him more afraid that he really was dead. He closed his eyes to try to keep his thoughts in a decipherable order, and when he opened them he found himself sitting at a table with Ingrid in the seat next to him. He had no idea that'd happened. As he studied the room, he realized it was familiar in a way. In two ways, to be more precise, and he felt his lips part a little, the new series of questions on his tongue never quite making it out of his mouth. How was this possible?

"You should care. He's grinding you down, you know," she continued, still ignoring his confusion over his death or continued existence. She didn't even seem to notice the change in the surroundings. He stood up while she spoke, thinking maybe he could get away from her. He went to the window to try to figure out where he was first. "He uses you, like he uses everyone, sucking up all your hatred and negativity, playing with you like a puppet. He eats people like you up and just spits out the bones once he's gotten all he could from you. Doesn't that hurt?"

"No. I still don't care." He looked out through the blinds, and his breath caught in his throat at the absurdity of it. The skylines of Chicago and London, mashed together into one city. He backed away quickly. What was going on?

She made a frustrated noise suddenly, jumped out of her seat at him, and mussed up his hair with both hands. He wriggled away, still too shocked by where he was and how it could even exist to feel any irritation with her touching him. "You do!" she cried. "I know you said, 'from now on, I won't bother caring about anyone or anything because it can only be used against you-'"

He didn't want to be any more shocked than he was. And what should surprise him at this point, anyway? Why should it startle him this bizarre woman knew not just his current thoughts, but his memories too?

"Yes, that's what you decided at first," she continued. "But she made you think about changing your mind, so you _do _care about _something_."

"Stop," he ordered before she said much more. He didn't want to be reminded of his missed opportunity, his failure, a chance he might never get again because he still wasn't even sure if he was alive or not. He realized now, even if he tried to blame everyone else, it was _his _failure. It was his own fault that he'd lost Cammy because he'd been too stubborn to abandon his position in Shadaloo. Too stubborn to admit that what he was doing was wrong, even if it meant losing her. He braced himself with a hand against the couch. The ugly red, orange, and brown plaid monstrosity covered in cat hair that'd been picked up from a thrift shop and which he'd slept on quite a few nights, sometimes even with her before she knew the nasty truth about him and herself. He looked around again, back towards the kitchen that shouldn't be there, the kitchen where he'd spent his first fitful, confused, impossible night of sleep before suffering through Chun-Li's morning ritual of microwave noodles for breakfast. Two different, very different, lives all crammed into one place.

"Oh, if you insist. I'll be polite," Ingrid said. She patted his head again and he was too stunned to try to evade her. "I just want what's best for everyone and I can most certainly say _that_ would have been best for you."

"I don't care." The hollow mantra was quickly losing its strength, and every time he said it with less fervor. He felt empty. Confused. Not just by the impossible surroundings, or the strange woman who seemed to know everything about him, or even whether or not he was dead. He let his fingers crawl slowly over the rough fabric of the couch. He was confused as to how he could have willingly chosen the disgusting aristocracy and the pigs of Shadaloo over disappearing from all of the people he hated to be with the one person he thought he loved.

"Hm, if you say so," she said, and she clapped her hands together. "He still does though."

He glanced over his shoulder at her to ask who. But then the answer was plainly visible, hands slamming onto the kitchen table suddenly like it could keep him from falling through the floor. It was himself, but not quite, gasping for air, shivering madly. "Where-?" his twin managed to groan out, blinking rapidly at the composite apartment, noticing strange rooms or furniture woven into his own home. A home he'd barely had any time to live in before being ripped away from it.

"Cock-a-doodle-doo!" Ingrid shouted in his face cheerily, the most obnoxious of alarms, and Andres gave a startled cry as he scrambled to his feet, chair hitting the ground behind him. Vega watched his double with equal parts curiosity and shock. How could that person be him? How could the same people end up on such different paths?

Andres looked back and forth at Ingrid and Vega before blurting out another curse. "Shit, you're me." He pointed to Vega, then looked again at Ingrid. "And you were on that bridge. What the hell is going on?" His hand disappeared into his hair as he kept looking over the two others, not wanting to accept that any of this was actually happening but knowing the alternative of being dead in a river wasn't exactly preferable.

"Say hello to yourselves!" Ingrid said, beaming like she was waiting for some sort of praise.

"So you're the terrorist guy?" Andres asked, cautiously creeping towards an embittered mirror image of himself. It meant stepping into the weird part of the apartment, the part with an ugly couch he'd never own in his life, the part with a television hooked up to a few different video game consoles he'd never play and a coffee table littered with used mugs that held nothing but moist tea bags. "The one that works for Shadaloo?"

Vega nodded slowly, studying him as he approached. This was definitely the person he'd been switched with, the one who'd tried to make as normal a life as he could for himself. Vega didn't get a chance to ponder much more about the situation, because his double lunged at him, landing a punch square in the jaw. It turned out he could still feel pain after all, and he shoved himself...off of himself. "What-?!" Vega cried indignantly but was a little out of his element. He wasn't quite used to being attacked by himself and was at a loss as to how to respond.

"You idiot! You moron! What did you do with your life? You fucked it all up like an irresponsible kid!" his other self said. "Terrorists?! I mean, Jesus Christ!"

"Oh my," Ingrid murmured. "What a volatile pair you are."

Vega didn't know what to say at first, still shocked by the fact that he'd been punched in the face by himself from an alternate reality. But then came the bruised pride and he knew he had to throw something back at the man. "And you-" Well, he what? What had been so wrong about that life that it was comparable to being a murderer for a living? "All that-" He was really grasping at straws here. "Mediocrity." It was something. Maybe. Not really.

"That's what you've got?" Andres laughed. This was all kinds of fucked up, what he was experiencing right now, and part of him wondered if he was dead or having hallucinations or something. But if it was real, he couldn't pass up the opportunity to tell this guy what a monumental screw-up he'd been and how he'd squandered his life. "Let me tell you_-_I like my life. I worked hard, same as you, you get it? But what I'm making is sustainable, it's not going to end with me dead or in maximum security prison for the rest of my life! I can't say the same about you!"

"There's nothing wrong with-" Vega started, but it turned out his double was too impatient for the excuses.

"There is _everything _wrong with your life!" he shouted in disbelief. Was he really so stubborn? Well, yes, he was, and he knew that. The frustration of what he'd lived for the past few days caught up to him all at once, and he clenched his fists, trying to keep himself under control. He looked Vega in the eye and asked him about the aspect of his life that hurt him worst of all: "How could you make her so afraid of you?"

"She threw me out of a skyscraper, you know," he tried in his own defense.

"After you said you were going to peel her skin off!" He smacked his other self in the head, earning a blow to the cheek in return. Before it could escalate much further, Ingrid decided enough was enough. The pair found themselves thrown back away from each other without having been touched, Vega left upside down on the couch and Andres sprawled out on the kitchen table.

"Goodness," she said in her soft, almost naive voice. "Time out, you two!"

"What the fuck are you, anyway?" Andres shouted at her. He was terrified, really, but too angry to let himself feel it at first. "I'm through with all of this-I don't even know how to call it!"

"Oh!" she said, like she'd suddenly remembered something. "Yes, of course, this is between your home and your home." She pointed to each of them in turn.

"You did all this?" Vega asked.

She nodded and she looked very proud of herself.

"Why the hell would you do such a thing?" Andres whispered furiously.

"Well, I had to," she said, twisting a strand of her hair around her finger. "The power Bison stole from me, that he twisted and corrupted, you've helped me free it so it could come back home to me. Where it belongs."

"The psycho power?" Vega asked, though he already knew the answer.

"That's what _he _calls it. Stupid name." She tutted quietly, shaking her head. "But it's too much for any of _your_ kind to use. He already lost control to it, and it was only a matter of time before it began to destroy everything and well-" She reached out to Vega, and pinched his cheek. Vega scowled and drew back, batting away her hand. "You all fixed that for me. Thank you, dear!"

"'You all'. Why did you have to drag me into this if there were others who could do it for you?" Why had he been forced to suffer through that ordeal, to nearly blow himself to pieces after surviving multiple attempts on his life? And probably worst of all, being paired up with Chun-Li, or some version of her who cared about him.

She giggled like he'd said something stupid. "There is a lot of strength in numbers but the whole is only as strong as its parts. You each brought something different, but necessary to your mission. The answer to the riddle of stopping Bison in that world was a complicated one. I worked out several different plans, and this was the most viable-to take you from your reality and use you to create a chain of events that ended with his defeat."

"So people are like toys to you?" Vega asked.

"Not toys. Opportunities. We read you like books, your pasts, your futures, each of you a library of infinite possibilities. I read so many, traced the billions and billions of paths your lives could take, searching for just the right combination that would help to end Bison's terrible reign in that world before it was too late." She shrugged, like this was something of relative ease. "I want-we want-only what is best for everyone in the end."

"And who do you think you are, to decide something like that?" Andres asked.

"Well, I just know," the girl said, hugging herself, smiling broadly.

"You're..." Andres stopped himself, terrified at the sudden thought. But what else could explain all of this? "Are you God?" When he said it though, he felt instantly foolish. Did he have any good reason to think this was anything but a hallucination? Some fervent vision of his brain before it shut down?

"Oh, no, I'm not any god," she said, delighted and amused at the implication. "I'm simply from a different place than you. That doesn't mean we can't be friends, though!" She threw her arms around them. Vega sighed, pushing her away from him. Andres laughed, overcome with how absurd all of this was.

"Whatever you are," Vega said, "can you take me home?"

"Of course I can, silly! I brought you here, after all!" She clapped her hands together. "You both made it hard on me, though! What a stubborn pair you are! I had to wiggle and pull and push, like getting out a loose tooth! I'd get him to where _you_ are, and you know, _he'd_ resist and resist and resist! I felt a bit bad about it, pushing him around like that-"

Andres stared at those big red eyes of hers. "I wasn't delusional, was I? It's your fault. You made it so I thought all of these things that'd happened to him had happened to me."

She twisted her lips and rolled her eyes skyward as she thought. "Yes, your supposed delusions were one part real world circumstances and my poking and prodding. The stress of your mother's death made you sick, and it would have passed. But my involvement...may have..._exacerbated _things."

He laughed and Vega was familiar with that sound. It was a way of dealing with a fact he didn't _want_ to deal with. "You almost ruined my life," Andres said. He had to stop and clench his jaw, teeth grinding together, before he said some very foul, angry things. "I almost lost-"

"Don't be so silly," she said to him and he stared. "She'd never abandon you, I promise. That's what love means. It's why you were so difficult to take away to begin with. You were much less accepting to change. You fought so hard to come back home, and he had less reason to." She nodded to Vega and he glared back at her.

"Shut up," he demanded. "This place was no better."

But she smiled still, never seeming to be deterred by anything. "Was it? I think you might miss having a friend. It's okay to admit, it doesn't make anybody weak to want a friend, to love somebody. And if you work hard enough, I'm sure she'll take you back."

He glared again, trying to appear angry when he just felt exposed. He was a fraud, and he knew that. The difference this time was that someone else knew it too, and that made it seem pointless to keep pretending. "Are you so certain about that?" He didn't think he had a chance. Not after what he'd done, not with the kind of life he lived.

"Let me tell you a secret," she whispered, taking hold of his arm. "You can't really ever be perfectly absolved. No one's slate is ever wiped clean, but neither is anyone studiously tallying your wrongs and rights, waiting for them to balance out. Your actions have an effect on your world, and they aren't ever going to be forgotten. And while it may be tempting to take this knowledge and focus only on what you have done, maybe it would be more worthwhile to take the time to also focus on what you could do." She tilted her head and smiled. "Yes, the way behind may be set in stone, but ahead? Ahead is full of possibility! Whatever you want, it's yours. Isn't that lovely? To show through your actions, which have such tangible consequences, that you are willing to do what it takes to make things better than they were before?"

It seemed childish, that it could be so simple. How many people's lives had he ended, out of either his line of work, or for the sake of it? He didn't often feel guilt. So why should he change? If he didn't feel ashamed of what he'd done, what was the point in making the effort she was going on about? Hadn't he decided he was who he was, and there wasn't any getting away from it? What kind of person could look at him, see what he'd done, and even begin to think about forgiving him instead of crying out in horror and condemning him? "Oh, it's just something to consider. It's always more satisfying to try than to give up," she said in her sweet, bright voice, twirling a strand of hair around her finger again. She smiled before patting him twice on the cheek. Then she winced a little. "I don't too much think either of you are going to particularly like this next part."

"Why-" Andres started to say when it hit him. Pain ripped through his chest and he fell to his knees. He tried to speak, but it hurt so badly he couldn't think, and blood welled up in his throat with every breath. He drew his hand away from his chest and it was covered in blood. His skin felt hot, slick with sweat. He could smell something-was it singed hair? "N-no, what-" He turned desperately to his other self for an explanation, but none ever came. Ingrid watched, an almost cartoonish frown on her face as blood leaked into and out of his lungs.

At the same time, Vega had his own problems to face, testaments to how busy his other self had been in his world. Explosions of pain behind his eyes spoke of numerous blows to the head. There was an audible crack and he clutched his side, sucking sharp breaths through gritted teeth. That had been one of his ribs. Then their was a pain in his shoulder, he felt blood warm and wet on his skin. Skin that was quickly becoming colder and colder, clothes soaking through with water, hair dripping into his face.

"I am really sorry there's no easy way to do that," Ingrid said with a shrug. "But at least you're still alive!" They had to take her word for it, so neither of them felt too confident about that fact.

* * *

She didn't think she would ever experience a car ride as stressful as that one. There was more than one moment in that forty minute mad dash to civilization that she thought Andres-or whoever he was now-wasn't going to make it. Long pauses in labored breaths where she found herself holding her own, only for him to cough up more blood and gasp again. He was still alive, probably thanks to Guile's speeding and the quick response from the medical professionals. She remembered a panicked glimpse she'd caught of him with tubes shoved down his throat and she gave in to despair for a moment. She'd been convinced they were too late, crying on Guile's shoulder while her father made phone calls.

That was the next hurdle to face. How did they get out of here without being recaptured? They'd lost the one person who'd tailed them out of the base, too many others distracted with explosions, collapsing buildings, escaped prisoners besides the four of them. Guile made the unfortunate observation that it was possible they weren't safe yet. For the most part, Thailand and the surrounding areas operated the same as they had before Bison took over. But they were still in Shadaloo's territory, and once things got under control back at the base, it was likely someone would be looking for any missing prisoners.

They couldn't exactly rush things. Andres had nearly died, and still needed to recover before they could think about leaving. Her father and Guile had both earned a few injuries themselves when the explosion occurred. They'd made it to this hospital by the grace of the GPS in the vehicle they'd stolen. Then came the lies. We were mugged, our friend was stabbed. The staff seemed skeptical-what about the singed hair and clothes, the broken glass still embedded in some of their skin? But they weren't turned away, given how near death one of them was, and since then it'd been twenty-four agonizing hours of waiting. Guile was okay, escaping with minor injuries. Her father was physically fine, but she could see how worried he was about everything. He'd spent hours on a payphone trying to find a safe way into China through his contacts at Interpol.

The fact that Shadaloo's soldiers or assassins could be hunting them down while they sat helplessly in a hospital weighed on all of them. Chun-Li tried to focus on the present, tried to find reassurance in the fact that they were all still alive. They'd come this far, so maybe they could make it just a little bit further. She just had to stay positive, even if it was the most difficult thing she'd ever had to do.

It helped to be able to see him again. Still asleep, but at least he was there, breathing without struggling, no more bleeding. She sat in the room with him as long as she was allowed, television turned to the news even if she couldn't understand it. She only paid attention to it half the time, mostly wanting it on for the noise. An image was displayed of satellite imagery, black smoke amid the jungles northwest of Bangkok. She felt her throat tighten. Was it about Shadaloo?

"Shit, word's out already?" Guile's voice startled her, and she glanced away from the television to look at him. He looked tired, but somehow not stressed.

"Beauty of the twenty-four hour news cycle, I guess," she answered, looking back at the screen. The report had changed topics, seemed to be about the weather now.

Guile sat next to her, and spoke in a low voice. "Listen. Your dad's got someone to come for us. We just have to make it to the border with Laos. They'll meet us there and get us into China."

Her heart surged with joy, relief sweeping through her. Maybe they weren't done yet, and they wouldn't be safe until they were in China. Maybe not even then, if they were wanted badly enough. But at least they wouldn't be left to deal with all of this alone. "Thank God," she muttered. Briefly, she covered her face with her hands and wiped her eyes.

"Thank your dad," Guile added. "He's patient as hell. I would've been threatening to put my boot up some asses a long time ago."

She smiled. Guile had never been all that great with negotiating, but he was right. Her father had the patience of a saint, and was good at dealing with people. It was probably part of what made him such a good cop-even criminals felt like they could trust him, after awhile.

She was taken from those thoughts when Andres suddenly muttered, "I punched myself in the face?" He groaned and kicked away the blanket, and she felt her heart leap into her throat. Until now, his state of well being was just a word, an idea-he existed, he was there. But now he was awake, and was it really him, or was that stranger still wearing his skin? She watched, frozen in place by anticipation as he tried to sit up. His wide eyes found Guile first, who looked more confused than startled, and Andres suddenly blurted, "Oh God, Captain America!"

"The hell's the matter with you, kid?" Guile asked. The question was rhetorical really-he'd been stabbed through the lungs and then tried to blow himself up. Along with him and Dorai, almost as an afterthought. There was plenty wrong with him.

"No TSA pat downs-" Andres said, and it really did sound like him again. No cynicism, no bitterness. He waved a hand half-heartedly at Guile as if to ward him away.

"Andres?" she said finally, staring at him. He jerked back like he'd been struck and stared at her for a moment like he couldn't be certain if he was seeing her or not. He blinked then swallowed and he still tasted blood. Ingrid was right, he was still alive. And Chun-Li hadn't abandoned him. He buried his face in his hands and laughed hysterically, too overwhelmed at the fact that he was home to worry about why he was in a hospital or why it hurt to breathe. "God it's you!" she cried as she leaped up to her feet and rushed beside him, throwing her arms around him.

He dug his fingers into her shirt and held her tight, still laughing madly even if it hurt. He almost didn't want to let her go for fear of losing her again. Obviously there was a lot he'd missed out on. Maybe even a lot he'd have to try to answer for. But all that mattered to him for now was that he was home-really home-and she was in his arms again.

* * *

Thanks to everybody who has been reading along. :)


	17. Chapter 17

They were able to walk to the train station together now. The new semester resulted in his schedule coinciding more with hers. His commute took longer though. She liked the morning walks, especially in the warmer weather. She glanced at him as they walked, and every time she looked at him she was relieved to see someone she felt like she knew. Not a hostile stranger. It'd been months since all that happened, but it was certainly difficult to forget and she often found herself thinking about it. The days before her dad's visit when things felt just slightly off. How that unsettling feeling got worse and worse until it couldn't be ignored or written off as a temporary bout of irritation. The way everything exploded at Ken and Eliza's wedding. Panic would sometimes grip her, usually in the middle of the night, and she would have to convince herself she wasn't in a cell in a terrorist prison camp. Nights like those were becoming rarer, but there were some things that were harder to shake off. Like the image of him in that hospital, apparently ten minutes from dying according to one of the doctors. All it would have taken was a little traffic or an obstruction in the road to decide whether he'd live or die, and that was so terrifying she couldn't bring herself to forget it.

"Did it hurt?" She knew she asked him that a lot.

He was getting too used to the question, though, and his answers always helped to reassure her that he was his old self again. "When I fell from heaven? Of course, it's a long way down."

"No," she said with a sigh that may have seemed due to annoyance to the untrained ear. But she was sure he understood it meant she was at least a little entertained by the corny joke. "When that girl stabbed you." It was Guile who'd explained to her what had happened to Andres, but he'd only caught the tail end of the deadly encounter. He'd seen the girl hold the knife to his throat, and it was all he needed to see to justify the shot. The reaction Andres seemed to have to her death left her wondering who the girl was, but she'd never managed to ask him. She remembered how short-tempered he-or was it really someone else?-had been when she'd ask him about his thoughts before, and it gave her reason to pause.

"I think," he said finally, the same answer he always gave. But he didn't get impatient with her for asking again and again. "I wasn't there when it happened. But I think I had a dream about it. It hurt, yes."

"Yeah," Chun-Li said, recalling all the weird things he'd told her. She blamed it on pain medication. Something about meeting himself, hating him for messing up his life. Something about God changing things around and how He is actually a She who looks like a thirteen year old. It was all a jumbled mess, and she tried not to talk too much about that part because it was upsetting in a way. Had he really come so close to dying he'd had some kind of near-death experience? She couldn't decide if she believed it all or not. Who was she to question something like that after what had happened to him? "Can you..." she started to ask. Then she felt foolish and stopped herself from finishing.

He made a noise, something like a tsk. "Say it. I hate mysteries."

She looked at him and of course he didn't seem upset or angry. She tried to tell herself to stop expecting that out of him, but it was hard after what had happened. The man he'd been those months ago was profoundly different, and it'd been a challenge adjusting when he returned to normal. She hated to admit that she still got tense when she wanted to talk to him sometimes, especially about more personal questions like this one. So she took a breath before asking, "Will said when he shot that girl, you went berserk. Like you were upset that she'd been killed."

"The blonde girl, right?" he said, just to clarify. He hadn't been there for it after all. Chun-Li nodded. "Well, first, let me remind you, it wasn't me behaving like that. It was the other guy." She tried to remember that, though the farther in time they were from those events, the more far-fetched and made up they seemed. A part of her preferred that-maybe one day, they could forget it altogether. "And I think, maybe he had a thing for her or something. I don't know. I didn't have much time to figure it all out. But you're other self told me he was friends with her."

"My other self," she repeated. It sounded silly, but he never said it with even an ounce of self-consciousness. To him, it was the truth.

"Yes."

"We weren't...?" she started to ask but again felt embarrassed for wondering. If the way that 'other guy' had treated her was any indication, it was a stupid question for more than one reason.

But Andres didn't indicate that he thought that. "No, we weren't," he said. "But it's probably for the best. You don't deserve someone that shitty."

It was a difficult thing to process. "You really-I mean, he really killed people?"

He nodded. "I'm not like that you know." He said it quickly, like he had to make sure she understood before her opinion on him was changed forever. It was especially important to him that she knew that, given his own actions during his mental breakdown after his mom's death. "I wouldn't-I really would not ever hurt someone."

She watched him as he said all of that, even though he couldn't bring himself to look her in the eye. It was too painful a discussion, for both of them. He was embarrassed for how he'd behaved when he was sick. And she was dwelling on some of the rough ways his alleged 'other self' had treated her, how flippantly he'd killed prison guards and who knew who else. He didn't know about those parts, and she couldn't bring herself to tell him. Maybe one day, but not now. She wanted to believe that things had finally settled down and changed for the better, and she knew that meant she couldn't keep obsessing over what'd happened. So she took his hand and said, "I know." It made him smile and that was the sort of thing that made him seem real to her. Things were good again, and that's what she'd focus on now.

* * *

"...And...well...that's sort of boring so I don't feel like reading all of it. But you can if you want, it's there. I'm not so concerned if you don't come to this room to work, but make sure you're putting time in somewhere, because art isn't really something you can do at the last minute." He scanned the paper again, muttering to himself about whether or not he'd already read that part or this part. He really could've stood to be a bit more organized, he knew, but he'd been distracted lately. "Well...does anyone have questions about anything?" he asked as he turned his eyes back to the classroom.

Nearly every hand went up and he stared for a minute before sighing quietly to himself. Soon after getting back home from China, he and the rest of his friends who'd escaped Shadaloo had been sought after for all kinds of questioning. He couldn't count how many times some government official had requested interviews-and sometimes, they felt more like interrogations. It was especially difficult for him, because he didn't know anything. He only had the parts of the story that the others told him about, and of course, the part the government was most interested in was absent from that. They wanted to know about Bison, the psycho drive, if it was thoroughly destroyed. He didn't know, and he supposed his other-self's interactions with Bison would remain a mystery forever.

Then the journalists descended. It wasn't every day that fine arts professors and martial arts teachers were blowing up terrorist base camps and getting away with it. But he really wished a reporter hadn't 'accidentally' let his name slip. This had happened in every class this week, students much more focused on escapades he didn't even live through than their boring syllabus. There was really no avoiding the attention now. "Any questions about anything _not _having to do with Shadaloo?" The hands went back down slowly, disappointment plain on their faces. He sighed again but then shrugged and said, "Fine, what?"

"Did they torture you guys in there?"

"I heard you blew a building up."

"Did you have to kill people to make it out alive?"

"Did you see the Buffalo man?"

"Was it like a concentration camp in there?"

The questions came one on top of the other and he could barely distinguish them. People asked him about all of this stuff and it was hard for him to say 'I don't remember anything because I didn't live through it'. Who was going to believe that? So he'd learned the story by heart because of how many times he'd been asked about it. It looked like he'd be telling it at the beginning of every semester for the rest of his life, if this one was any indication. "Okay, shh!" he said, waving his hands. They had about fifteen minutes left, so that'd have to do. "Here's how it went."

* * *

i left this chapter significantly shorter because well there's not a whole lot to say and i feel sort of like these two aren't REALLY chun-li and vega like we know them.

and well i guess that's it for this story! hope it turned out alright. :) Thanks so much to everybody who read, reviewed, followed, favorited, or even glanced at it. You guys are really kind and very encouraging, a big part of helping see this story through to the end. :) Thanks again!


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